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OCTOBER 1937 



j: 






&HLACTIC 

PATRVL 

CDUimiD c. 

^Mmi blu 
^HIITH* Fn lw» 



Out of Night 

By 

DON A. STUART 






^ ' f 




i.'te. 




merica 



V $37.50 

Value 
Now Only 

$Ai^75 



6 Genuine Diamonds 



IIERE they are! Selected by c^r Illustrations 

H values in America} l^ad the descrigjom^^^^ 

■"!S M n mognificen. value, wllh fullest confidence, 

’crin^4S:fo"nRoAi!ru^^ 

likan lOc a 

payable In 10 easy 

StlSKiAL“»l7^; COP. lO -AV » 

lO MONTHS TO PAY.' 

I SATISFACTION 

Famous 

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^'Ranger" 

^ $A 175 



In the chann 
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Natural Gold 



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i NT E RN AT ( O N A L C O R N O E N C E^ S C H OOiL S. 



BOX 4904-J, SCRANTON, PENNA. 

Without cost or obligation, please send me a copy of your booklet, “Who Wins and 
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Age Addrfst.. 



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AST— 1 



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ON SALE THIRD WEDNESDAY OF EACH MONTH 




Volume XX Number 2 

October, 1937 

A Street & Smith Publication 

Title Reflistered U. 8 . Patent Offlee 

The entire contend ef thle nagazine are protected by copyright, and must not be reprinted without the publishers' pernission. 



NOTICE— This magazine contains new stories only. No reprints are used. 



Serial Novet: 

GALACTIC PATROL (Part II) E. E. Smith. Ph.D. 58 

CoBtinuiog Dr. Smith’s Snest coBtribution to scieBce-bctioB. 

Novels: 

OUT OF NIGHT Don A. Stuort 10 

— came Aesir — the poBtheoB of moBkisd — maBkind itself — a solid 
shadow of utter sight 

STARDUST GODS .... . Dow Eistar and Robert S. McCready 122 

From VeBus, Mars, Jupiter and Earth teuuous ghosts of highly or- 
gauized solids, liquids and gases were speeding — to keep a mighty 

Short Stories: — 

MR. ELLERBEE TRANSPLANTED ...... Jan Forman 39 

— to the “City of the Future,’’ 

RULE OF THE BEE Manly Wade Wellman 51 

A whole squadron of bees — ridable like horses — and with wings and 
wisdom to boot 

A MENACE IN MINIATURE Raymond Z. Gallon 88 

Through the tiny hole in the conning tower Sew a pin prick of white 

light 

PENAL WORLD . , . . Thornton Ayre 110 

Mad, idiotic world! Air of absolute poison — trees basically ammonium 
carbonate — creatures living in a temperature of a hundred and twenty 
degrees below zero centigrade 

Science Features: 

RA. THE INSCRUTABLE R. Dewitt Miller 101 

The real meaning of radium. 

SLEET STORM John W. Campbell. Jr. 151 

The seventeenth in the series of scientiSc discussions which embrace 
the entire solar system. 

Readers* Department: 

EDITOR’S PAGE 57 

SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS 156 

(The Open House of ScientiSc Controversy.) 

Cover by Brown. Illustrations by Wesso. Dold. Thompson. 

Single Copy, 20 Cents Yearly Subscription, $2.00 

Monthly publication lesued by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., 79-89 Seventh Arenue, New York, N. Y. Artemai 
Bolmett, President; Ormond Y. Gould, Vice President and Treasurer; Henry W. Ralston, Vice President; Gerald H. KmllJi, 
Secretary; A. bawrance Holmes, Assistant Secretary. Copyright, 1937, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., New York. 
Copyright, 1937, by Street Sc Smith Publications, Inc., Great Britain, Entered as Second-class Matter September 13. 1933. 
at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under Act of Congress of March 8, 1879. Subscriptions to Cuba. Horn. Republic, 
Baltl, Spain, Central and South American Countries, except The Qulanas and British Honduras, $2.25 per year. To all 
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We do not accept responsibility for the return of unsollcitod manuscripts. 

To facilltato handllnf, the author should ioeiose a setf-addrosaod opvolopo with the roguisite postage attached. 

STREET & SMITH PUBLICATIONS, INC., 79 7th AVE., NEW YORK, N. Y. 



"ADVERTISING SECTION 







I WILL SEND MY FIRST LESSON FREE 



Shows How./ Train Vbu 



GOOD JOB IN RADIO 



J. E. Smith* PrMident 
hfational Radloliistitute 
EstabUshed 1914 
The mta who has directed 
the home itudy tralnlni of 
more men for the Btdlo 
Industry than any other 
man In America. 



U-ie%€^ 



Servic# 
Manac«r 
For Four 
StoroB 

•*I was work- 
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course three er four times. 
I am now Radio serrlce 
manager for the M ' 
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(our atore8.'*-^ABfE9 B. 
aTAN. 1535 Slade SU. Fall 
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in 

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Icink. with some Publlo 
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In my spare time. My 
earnings in Radio amounf 
to about SIO a week."-- 
WILLIAM METER. 70S 
Ridge Bead. Hobart* Ind. 

Eaminss 
TripiBd 
ByNaRal. 
Training 

*'l hare been 
I doing nicely* 
' thanks te K. 
R. I. Training. My present 
earnings are about three 
times what they were be- 
fore t took the Course. I 
consider N. B. I. Training 
the llaest lo the world."— 
BERNARD COSTA* SOI 
Kent Sl«» BroAlyn* Ta 



Clip the coupon and mall It. I will Drove I eti 
train you at home in your epare time to be • 
RADIO EXPERT. I will send you my first lessen 
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it is to understand — how practical I maka learning 
Radio at home. Men without Radio or electrical 
experience become Radio Experts, earn more money 
than ever as a result of my Training. 

Many Radi» Eicparts Mak* 

$30. $50. $7$ a Waak 
Badlo broadcasting atatlona employ engineert* opar« 
ators. station managers and pay up to fS.OBO a year. 
Spare time Radio set servicing pays as much as $304 
to $500 a year — full time Joba with Radio jobbers* 
manufacturers, dealers as much aa $30. $50* $75 a 
week. Many Badlo Experts operate their own full 
time or part time Radle sales and aerrtce businesses. 

» Radio manufacturers and jobbers employ testers* in- 
spectors* foremen, engineers, servicemen, paying up 
to $6,000 a year. Radio operatora on ahlpa get good 
pay* see the world besides. Automobile. p<Hlce» 
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Bisll the coupoo. 

Thara’s a Raal Futura !a Radio 
for Wall Trahiad Maa 

Radio already gives good jobs to more than S0$.000 
people. And in 1636. Radio enjoyed <»e of its most 
prosperous yeare. More than $500,006,000 worth of 
sets, tubes and parts were sold--im Increase of more 
than 60% over 1935. Over a million Auto Radios 
were sold* a big increase over 1935. 24.000.000 

homes now have one or more Radio aets, a^ more 
than 4.000,000 autos are Badlo eoulpped. Every 
year millions of these seta go out of date and are 
replaced with newer models. More mintoni need 
servicing, new tubes, repairs, etc. A few hundred 
$30. $50. $75 a week joba have grown to thousands 
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growing fasti 

Many Mak« $5* $10* $15 bWbbB Extra 
in Spar* Tima WhilB LBarninx 

Almost every neighborhood needs a good spare time 
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of fellows. My Training, la famous as "the Couna 
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I Give You Practieat Gxportoneo 

"My Course Is not all book training., I send yeti 
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MeiiBy Back AsTBBiiiBfil Protects You 

I am aura 1 can train you tuccetsfully. I agree in 
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niMl Out What Radio Oflore You 

Mail coupon for sample leesoa tod 6i-page book. 
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J. E. SMITH. President. Dept. 7JO 

Ifatloeal Badlo liuUtute. Waobiagtoa* tS C* 



MAIL 

COUPON 

now/ 



ff. E. SMITH, Prertdent, Dept. 7JD 
National Badlo Inatltut^ Washlngrtoia, D^ 0> 

Dear Mr. Smith: Without obligating me. send the sample lesaop tad 
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Badlo Expeba. (lieaie write plainly.) 



KAHE.. 



AGB 



ABDRESdw 



...STATB— : 



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Airest Him, Officer! 

I’LL HAVE COMPLCTE FACTS ON 
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INSTITUTB OF APPLIED SOENCB 



I' 

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19110 Suonyside Ave., Dept. 2770 Chicaeo. Illinois 

■■■■■■■BSBmmmmBBaaaBBBSiaaiBiBaBBB 



Institute of Applied Science 

1920 Sunnyiide Ave.. Dept. 2770_ Chicago, Illinois 

Gentlemen:— Without any obligation whatsoever, send 
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ADVERTISING SECTION 




Diesel — the New. Fast-Growing Power 



Diesel engines are replacing steam and gasoline engines id 
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ACCOUNTING 

the profession that pays 

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Men-Women (Age 18-50) 

1937 GOVERNMENT JOBS 



PAYING $1260-$2100 A YEAR TO START 
Send for FREE LIST Telling About 

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I Arthur R. Patterson (former Oor*t. Flxamiaer.) Priucipal 
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* Rochester, N. Y. 

I Bush absolutely free, list of OoT’t. jebs, salaries paid, etc. Sead 
I yaur 48 pago hook telling haw 1 am la aualify. 

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lobs, Salaries, Automatic 
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SOCIAL SECURITY EMPLOYEES TO BE 
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*‘We will adrlse you where your examinatloa will f>a held, 
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ADVERTISING SECTION 




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6 Big Volumes 

1937 Edition 

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BEUEVE IN LUd^S 

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OUT OF NIGHT 

—moved a gigantic, manlike figure — a figure 
not in black but of blackness — a solid shadow — 

by Don A. Stuart 



T he SARN mother looked 

down at Grayth with unblinking, 
golden eyes. “You administer 
the laws under the Sarn,” she clicked 
waspishly. “The Sarn make the laws. 
Men obey them. That was settled once 
and for all time four thousand years ago. 
The Sarn Mother has determined that 
this thing is the way of progress most 
desirable. It is clear?” 

Grayth looked up at her, his slow- 
moving eyes following from the toe pads, 
up the strange, rope-flexible legs, up 
the rounded, golden body to the four 
twined arms, his lips silent. His steel- 
gray eyes alone conveyed his thought 
complete. The Sarn Mother, on her in- 
laid throne of State, clicked softly in an- 
noyance. 

“Aye, different races we are ; the Sarn 
are the ruling race. The Sarn Mother 
will be obeyed by the slaves of her peo- 
ple no less than by her people. For 
four centuries the crazy patchwork has 
persisted — that the men have had free- 
doms that the masters have denied them- 
selves. Henceforth men shall be ruled 
as the Sarn. The Sarn have been just 
masters; this is no more than justice. 
But be warned, you will see that this 
thing is administered at once — or the 
Sarn will administer it themselves.” 
Grayth spoke for the first time, his 
voiee deep and powerful. “Four thou- 
sand years ago your people came to 
Earth and conquered our people, en- 
slaved them, destroyed all our leaders, 
setting up a rabble of unintelligent 
slaves. Since your atomic energy, your 



synthetic foods, your automatic produc- 
tion machinery, and the enormous de- 
crease in human population you had 
brought about made more of goods for 
each man, it w’orked no great hardship. 

“Before ever the Sarn came to this 
world, your race was ruled by a matri- 
archy, as it is to-day, and must always 
be. To your people it is natural, for 
among you the females born in a gen- 
eration outnumber the males five to one. 
You stand near seven fe'et tall, while the 
Sam Father — as the other males of your 
race — is but four feet tall, but a quarter 
as powerful physically. Matriarchy is 
the inevitable heritage of your race. 

“You differ from us in this funda- 
mental of sex ilistribution. By pure 
chance our two races resemble each 
other superficially — two eyes, two ears, 
rounded heads. You folks have two, 
wide-separated nostrils, four arms in 
place of two. But internally there is no 
resemblance. No bone of your body is 
three inches long; your arms, your legs 
are made as a human spine, of many 
small bones. Your copper-bearing foods 
are deadly poison to us. Your strath, 
though it seems like human hair, is a 
sensory organ sensitive to radio waves, 
and a radiator of those waves. We are 
two races apart, fundamentally different. 

“Now, like your own matriarchy, you 
wish to establish upon us a matriarchial 
government ; for this reason alone, you 
state, the number of males to be allowed 
in succeeding generations is to be re- 
duced. 

“What is natural for your race is an 




Water bad short-circuited the thing on his head — it was smoking; 
as he tore it from him it grew red-hot —— 



12 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



unnatural crime upon ours. Would you 
insist that we should eat no better food 
than you eat, as we should obey no dif- 
ferent laws? Would you legislate that 
we should eat your foods, as we should 
obey your laws? Equally, in either case 
you destroy us. It is to the advantage 
of neither race.” 

“Grayth, you seek to tell the Sam 
Mother her mind? What is best for 
her good? Perhaps I have been foolish 
to allow such freedom to your kind, al- 
lowing this ‘election’ of human admin- 
istrators. You, Grayth, will be replaced 
within this week, and not by election. 
The laws of the Sam will be applied at 
once !” 

GRAYTH looked at her steadily, 
deep-set iron-gray eyes unwavering on 
jewel-flecked golden ones. He sighed 
softly. “Your race does not know of 
the ancient powers of man; you are a 
race of people knowing and recognizing 
only the might of the atomic generator, 
the flare of the atomic blast as power. 
The power of the mind is great. For ten 
thousand years before your coming men 
thought, and united in their thoughts of 
the unseen powers. In a hectic week 
your ancestors destroyed all of man’s 
chaotic civilization, clamped on him sud- 
denly a new world state. Before a union 
of thought could be attained, the thing 
was done, and as slow crystallization of 
feeling came, the poor survivors found 
that the conditions were not impossible. 
Our very difference of race protected 
them, to an extent, against mistreat- 
ment. 

“But a crystallization has taken place 
during these forty centuries, a slow uni- 
formity has built up. The mighty, cha- 
otic thought wills of five hundred mil- 
lion men during three thousand genera- 
tions were striving, building toward a 
mighty reservoir of powers, but their 
very disordered strivings prevented or- 
dered formation. 

“During a hundred centuries of cha- 



otic thought, turbulent desire, those vast 
reservoirs of eternal, indestructible 
thought energies have circled space, un- 
able to unite. During these last four 
millenniums those age-old forces have 
slowly united on a single, common 
thought that men destroyed by your race 
during the conquest have sent out. 

“We of our race have felt that thing 
in these last years, that slowly accreting 
oneness of age-old will and thought, de- 
veloping reality and power by the gath- 
ering of forces generated by minds re- 
leased by death during ten thousand 
years. He is growing, a one from many, 
the combined thought and wisdom and 
power of the fifteen hundred billions of 
men who have lived on Earth. Aesir, he 
is, black as the spaces in which he 
formed. 

“We are a different race. As you have 
your strath sensitive to radio, we have 
yet a more subtle sense, a sense reacting 
to the very essence of thought. That, 
too, has grown with the passing years. 
Over there by the wall an electrotech- 
nician follows conduits, and his thoughts 
are clear to my mind, as the communi- 
cations of the Sarn are to each other.” 

The Sarn Mother’s lips twitched. “He 
pays no attention to us,” she said very 
low, so that, in the huge room only those 
within a few feet of her could hear. “I 
doubt this power you claim. Make him 
come here and bow down before me — 
and say no word.” 

Across the room, the human electro- 
technician, clad in the stout, ungraceful 
clothes of his trade, the lightning em- 
blem emblazoned on his back, looked up 
with a start. “Before the Sarn 
Mother?” his voice echoed his surprise 
that he, an undistinguished workman, 
should be called thus before the ruler of 

Earth.' “Aye, I ” He looked about 

him suddeidy, his face blanking in sur- 
prise as he saw no one nearer him than 
the gathering two hundred feet away 
across the black basalt floor. A red flush 
of confusion spread over his face, and 



OUT OF NIGHT 



13 



he turned back to his task with awkward 
nervousness, sure that the voice from 
empty air, issuing an impossible sum- 
mons, had been a figment of his own 
imagination 

The Sarn Mother looked with unwink- 
ing golden eyes at Grayth. “You may 
go,” she said at last. “But the Law of 
the Sarn, that there shall be five of fe- 
males and one of males, is the law of the 
planet.” 

Grayth turned slowly, his head bowed 
momentarily in parting salute. His body 
erect, and his tread firm, he walked down 
the lane of the gathered Sarn. Behind 
him, the six humans who had accom- 
panied him fell into step. Silently, the 
little procession passed between the 
gleaming bronze of the great entrance 
doors and down the broad steps to the 
parked lawns beyond. 

BARTEL hastened his steps and fell 
in beside Grayth. “Do you think she 
will enforce that law ? What can we do ? 
Will she believe in this mind force, this 
myth from the childhood of a race?” 

Grayth’s eyes darkened a little. He 
nodded slowly. “We will go to my 
house. The Sarn Mother is not given 
to idle gestures, and she cannot lay down 
laws and revoke them aimlessly. But — 
we can talk when we reach my house.” 
Grayth strode on thoughtfully. Sun- 
light lay across the lawns — sunlight and 
green shadows under trees. They saw 
the occasional darting shadow of vague 
huge things, high in the air, smooth- 
lined shapes that floated wingless and 
soundless far above them. Then down 
a long avenue paved with a gray cement 
that would glow with soft light when 
night fell, they went. The broad park 
lands, with their jewellike palaces of the 
Sarn, fell behind them, then the low 
wall that divided the city of the Sarn 
from the city of men. 

The broad avenue shrank abruptly, 
changed from the gray, night-glowing 
cement to a cobbled wtdk. The jewel- 



like palaces and the sprawling parks of 
the Sarn gave w'ay to neat, small houses 
of white- washed cement, crusted with 
layer on ancient layer of soft-tinted wash. 
For these homes nearest the Sarn City 
had been built after the coming of the 
Sarn, when the ruins of man’s cities still 
smoldered with destruction. 

The very atomic bombs that had 
brought that ruin to man’s cities were 
dead now. The last traces of the cities 
being succumbing to the returning thrust 
of green, burying life. The Sarn were 
old on Earth and this city they had 
caused to be about them was old, the 
hard granite cobbles of the walk worn 
smooth and polished with the soft tread 
of ages. 

The Sarn Mother had sat on her 
golden throne and watched the rains of 
summers smooth them, and the tread of 
generations of men polish them. The 
Sarn Mother had been old when the 
Sam landed; she was unchanged now, 
after the passage of more than a hundred 
generations of men, after ten generations 
of the rest of her people. Only she and 
the seven of her council were eternal. 

The neat, vine-clad houses of the city 
of men slipped back, and the easy bustle 
of the square came before them, the an- 
cient shops where a hundred and twenty 
generations had bought and sold and 
carried on their lives. He nodded ab- 
sently, smiled to friends and well wish- 
ers, noted unchanging the sullen looks of 
those who wore the small green shield 
emblem of Dmnnel’s faction. 

Bartel’s voice spoke again at his 
shoulder. “Drunnel’s friend, Varthil, 
seems less sullen to-day. Did you no- 
tice ?” Bartel nodded faintly toward the 
powerful figure clad in the balance- 
emblemed tunic of a legal administrator. 
“He went so far as to smile slightly. I 
am undecided between two meanings.” 

“There is only one possible.” Grayth 
sighed. “He has more sense than to try 
to make me believe he begins to regard 
me as a friend ; therefore, he smiles not 



14 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



at me but to himself. You sent Thera 
as I suggested ” 

Bartel nodded in puzzlement. ‘T did, 
Grayth, but — I cannot see the need of 
that. The Sarn will ” 

“The Sarn Mother will do nothing. 
Wait till we reach the house.” The 
square fell behind ; the houses grew less 
ancient, subtly so, for the style of 
building remained unchanged, and the 
building had been good. There were no 
signs of decay in even the oldest. The 
lands around each house grew larger, 
too. There were more children in these 
cobbled lanes. 

I Grayth turned oft", Bartel and three of 
the others with him; two, with a few 
words of parting, went on. Silently, 
they cf>ntinued to the -low, rambling 
house of faintly tinted cement that was 
Grayth’s residence and office. 

HERE in this low, millennium-old 
building, the pyramided, loosely knit 
government of the humans of Earth was 
concentrated. A structure based on 
town delegates from every human settle- 
ment of Earth, men who reported to 
district speakers who carried their mes- 
sages to continental spokesmen and 
finally to the spokesman of man, and this 
was the spokesman’s official residence. 
Six months ago old Tranmath, spokes- 
man of man for twenty-two years, had 
died in this old building, and Grayth had 
l)een elected his successor, to “deal 
justly, and honorably and to the utmost 
of my ability so long as I may live, or un- 
til my body fails.” Death or dishonesty 
alone could remove him from his posi- 
tion. Death, dishonesty, or — now— 
Drunnel, who for the moment repre- 
sented both. 

Responsible to the Sarn, responsible to 
the humans as well, Grayth’s actual 
powers were limited purely to advisory 
capacities; he advised the Sarn, though 
they disregarded his suggestions as they 
liked. He advised the legion com- 
manders, the police of the human towns, 



and they, likewise, could disreganl his 
suggestions. The Sam Mother knew as 
well as he did that he could not enforce 
those laws of the matriarchy, even had 
he desired to; the Sarn Mother did not 
like Grayth. 

A dozen secretaries and clerks looked 
up as the small party entered, and looked 
back to their work. Enamel-and-silver 
disks on their headbands, the design 
worked into their sleeves, showed their 
status in society — the book and the lamp 
of administrators. 

Grayth nodded briefly and continued 
across the rubberlike floor to the low 
door of his inner conference room. The 
feet of thirty generations of spokesmen 
had carved into that tough, rubbery stuff 
a channel that circled here to avoid a 
column, turned back to avoid a desk that 
had sat just so, it or its precursors, for 
one thousand years. Finally, it tunneled 
a bit under the door, and into the low- 
ceilinged office. It split, as the entering 
parties had split those thousand years, to 
the nine seats about the conference table, 
a great six-inch slab of time-stained ma- 
hogany. 

Grayth seated himself at the end of 
the table, Bartel, the American spokes- 
man at his right, beside him Carron; 
commander of the legion of peace, Darak 
and Holmun, Grayth’s subspokesmen. 
And on their heels the gray-clad electro- 
technician came quietly into the room. 
Silently, the five men nodded greeting, 
while the technician placed his kit on the 
age-worn table. He lifted from it a 
shelf layer of jumbled tools, exposing 
tiny, banked instruments, and a thin, 
insulated metal rod that popped up as a 
spring extended it. 

Skilled fingers made adjustments as 
tiny needles swayed delicately and came 
to rest. His fingers touched small con- 
trols and the flexible metal aerial nodded 
and bowed and danced, bowing to every 
side of the room, halting suddenly as 
needles lifted and quivered. The techni- 
cian lined it carefully, then looked along 



OUT OF NIGHT 



15 



Us pointing finger toward the atom-flame 
projector, throwing dying stars of light 
that settled and vanished in twinkling 
illumination in the air. The tiny rod 
glowed with bluish light as he threw 
a tiny stud on his instrument panel. 

“That makes twelve different listen- 
ers,” he grunted. “I told you the Sam 
had had time to install more than one.” 

“And the spokesmen wondered, in 
years gone by, that the Sarn seemed to 
know their very thoughts.” Grayth 
smiled bitterly. “We may be able to ad- 
vance. I am the first spokesman in ten 
centuries who can hold a conference 
without the invisible presence of the Sam 
Mother.” 

Carron looked angrily toward the 
atom-flame projector. “It’s in that 
thing? Why don’t you rip the damned 
thing out ?” 

The technician grinned. “The Sam 
can hear radio waves as you hear sound. 
To them, that listener — a tiny radio 
transmitter powered probably by the 
atomic power of the projector — emits a 
clear, low hum. When we speak, the 
crystal modulates the radio hum with 
our voice frequencies. My little aerial 
there simply transmits a wave which, 
without stopping the transmitter’s radio 
frequency carrier, strips off the modula- 
tion. If I tear out the transmitter — ^the 
hum would vanish, and the Sam would 
become — curious, shall I say.” 

“Furious,” grunted Bartel. “Why 
won’t they switch to another while we’re 
in the room. They switch from one to 
another of those listeners irregularly.” 

“Ware’s instrument would still work, 
whichever they used,” Gra)rth explained. 
“He was merely curious as to which and 
how many they were using. There was 
no need to locate the listener.” The 
technician nodded in confirmation. 

Darak turned to Grayth with a sigh. 
“That being settled, tell me, Grayth, why 
does the Sam Mother ask you to do — 
command you to do something she 



knows you have no power to accom- 
plish ?” 

“Because the Sam Mother knows I 
will not do it,” answered the spokesmaaj 
sourly, “but that Dmnnel would.” 

“Drunnel — could he influence the 
Sam Mother? I never believed she 
would side in human quarrels unless 
she was directly affected — always felt she 
considered them beneath her notice.’' 
Carron looked to Grayth in surprise. 

GRAYTH settled back slowly in his 
great, worn chair. He lighted his pipe 
and began to puff, looking lazily at the 
gushing, soundless stars of the atom 
flame. “Four thousand years ago the 
Sam Mother landed, and only she her- 
self knows how many ages she had lived 
before that. The Sarn arc long-lived — 
five hundred — seven hundred years. But 
the Sarn Mother is the matriarch, im- 
mortal. Even her people have forgotten 
her age. The Sam landed, and in the 
Battles of Conquest ninety-nine per cent 
of mankind on Earth was destroyed. 
The remainder were made slaves, and 
they, our forefathers, were the mean- 
est, sniveling scum of humanity.” 

Carron moved restlessly ; his face 
flushed slowly and words growled in his 
throat. Grayth looked at him, his lean, 
rugged face smiling ironically. “It’s true 
enough, Carron. Those noble forefathers 
of ours were no great men; the great 
died killing Sam, rebelling, fighting. The 
unconquerable spirits died because they 
could not be conquered — and could die. 

“Four thousand years the Sam 
Mother has sat on her throne and 
watched mankind — listened, it would 
seem” — Grayth nodded toward the glow- 
ing aerial of the demodulator apparatus 
— “to its most secret councils. She knows 
man with the knowledge of one hxmdred 
and twenty generations. Unfortunately, 
man evolves, and being a short-lived 
animal, evolves more rapidly than do the 
Sarn. The weak willness that made 
him submit to slavery has died out in 



16 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



four thousand years. For a millennium 
the Mother has seen man rapidly becom- 
ing man again. 

“Bartel — Carron — ^what is that you 
wear on your forehead, that medallion 
of silver and enamel? The thing they 
placed on your forehead when they said 
you were ‘called to manhood.’ The 
Mother believes, in her mind, that it 
is the badge of your slavery, and your 
rank in her hierarchy of slavedom. 

“But Ware has hollowed the solid sil- 
ver of the Sarn Mother’s slave badge to 
contain the telepath instrument. That 
she does not guess. She does guess, 
though, that man’s slavery is being hol- 
lowed, a shell that may break soon. My 
announcement of the telepathic power 
troubled her more than we had guessed. 
We did not know, but she did. The an- 
cients, before the Conquest, had begun 
to discover telepathy. Where we hoped 
a myth might impress her, she knew the 
fact already ! By my telepath I followed 
her mind as she listened. 

“That she learned from forgotten rec- 
ords, but this she lias learned from 
watching one hundred and twenty gen- 
erations of us. Man will fight and die 
for what he has not; woman will fight 
and die for what she has. Man will 
sacrifice everything he has for something 
he hopes for, an ideal ; but while woman 
will fight for an ideal, she will not give 
up the good she has to gain it. 

“The Sam Mother knows that man 
is thinking again, after four thousand 
years, of the freedom he has not.’’ 

The Mother, then — means to enforce 
the matriarchy laws on humanity !’’ Bar- 
tel exclaimed. “But — that will merely 
inflame the revolution, not stamp it out.’’ 

Grayth shook his head. “The Mother 
is not so direct. She has lived four 
thousand years; to her a century is a 
passing year, and three generations of 
misery to humanity is a bad year in her 
life. She knows rebellion might flare, 
but she plans not for a century, but for a 
millennium. Her will will be done — and 



the survivors will bless the beneficent 
Mother and her justness. What things 
must she do that the matriarchy laws 
may be applied to humanity ?’’ 

“Kill four out of every five men ! She 
can’t! Better she would kill the last of 
humanity trying that, for every woman 
will fight for her man — and be killed 
with him !’’ Carron snorted. “Before she 
accomplished any such slaughter, half 
her Sarn would have been throttled, 
and all humans, man and woman alike. 
To bring to effect the law of one and 
five, so many women would die defend- 
ing their men that none would survive. 
And surely they would never serve the 
butcher.” 

“Drunnel,” said Grayth bitterly. 
“Drunnel is her cat’s paw. Women will 
hate the butcher, true enough, so Drun- 
nel she’s groomed for the role. No 
hatred of Sam, no danger to Sarn. But 
civil war — and Drunnel. Drunnel — and 
not rebellion, but rebellious energies di- 
verted against themselves. Let men kill 
men, and fewer women die. Let men 
kill men, till the beneficent Mother steps 
in with her hallowed legion of Sarn and 
stops the slaughter — when the law of one 
and five is reached. 

“Half the survivors will hate Drun- 
nel for his destruction and half will love 
the leader of their lost men. But all will 
praise the Mother who stopped the 
bloody war. The Sam Mother plans 
with the wisdom of four thousand years, 
and not the hot temper of forty.” 

CARRON opened his mouth to growl 
something, stopped, and closed it with 
a snap. “I’ll throttle Drunnel this after- 
noon,” he finally vowed. 

“Rendan is his lieutenant, and will 
take over. After Rendan is Grasun — 
and others follow.” Bartel sighed. 

“And I don’t think you will throttle 
Drunnel this afternoon anyway,” Ware 
said softly. “Unless he is late for his 
hour with the Mother, he is before her 



OUT OF NIGHT 



17 



now, bargaining and discussing weap- 
ons.” 

“We haven’t any weapons save those 
air guns Ware and others have made for 
us — and clubs,” Carron groaned. “The 
Mother, I suppose, will give him some of 
the deadly weapons by which the Sarn 
destroyed the ancients.” 

Ware shook his head. “By no means; 
you forget her purpose. She does not 
want Drunnel to win. She wants him 
to bring about a decimating strife. If 
she gives him powerful weapons and 
easy conquest, the war is done before 
it is begun. No, she will give him weak 
weapons, and few of them, so that he 
will win only after long, deadly strug- 
gle. Why, she would probably supply 
us with weapons, if Drunnel should get 
too easy a victory.” 

Carron threw his great body back in 
his chair so viciously the old wood 
creaked in protest. The room thundered 
to his curses. “I’ll move my blistering 
legion of peace this very hour, by — by 
Aesir! I’ll throttle Drunnel with my 
own hands, and I’ll see that every sneak- 
ing, slinking Sarn-fathered maggot of 
his evil crew squirms beside him !” 

“We can’t. Drunnel has as many men 
as we — and it would not be done in an 
hour. We must wait till Ware’s work 
is done, and Aesir is ready to aid us,” 
Grayth said sharply. “If we can hold 
off this struggle till we are ready to help 
ourselves, the Aesir will be strong 
enough to help us.” 

“What does Drunnel hope to gain 
from this?” asked Holmun. “He is 
spreading his organization to Europe, to 
Asia, as I know. Everywhere you sent 
me these last two months, I have found 
him working, promising a firmer stand 
against the Sam, more freedom for hu- 
manity. Those are campaign promises, 
to be rejected. But if he knows this is 
coming — what does he hope to gain by 
it, knowing, as he must, that the Sara 
Mother is inciting this thing to cause 
slaughter, not to give him power.” 
AST-^ 



Grayth’s lean, tanned face hardened 
and the iron-gray eyes flashed. “Power, 
yes, but more than that; every move 
Drunnel has ever made, he has found me 
across his path. He sought the district 
delegateship ; I won it. He had to con- 
tent himself with that of city spokesman. 
He sought the American spokesmanship ; 
I won it. He hated me. Six months ago 
we sought the spokesmanship; I won 
again, while Bartel here won the Amer- 
ican spokesmanship over Rendan, his 
friend. That might be enough — but he 
wants Deya, and Deya chose me. To 
him it was the finishing blow. I think 
the man is mad. Power and the girl he 
wanted — and he has been blocked in 
every move. 

“If he must, he is not averse to de- 
stroying all mankind to destroy me, and 
to destroy Bartel, too. If he wins, he 
does that — destroys us — and he believes 
he will then have Deya and Thera as 
well. 

“If he wins, he destroys me, and Bar- 
tel, the men he hates. For a time at 
least, he will have the power he wants, 
and the women he wants, not for them- 
selves now, but because they refused 
him. He fights for those reasons. His 
followers ” 

GRAYTH looked at none of them, 
his whole concentration turned on an 
inner consideration of the problem. His 
voice was almost a monotone, the voice 
of a man thinking out loud. “There will 
be civil war,” he said softly, “because 
mankind is slowly growing aware of 
slavery and restriction. The whole race 
is stirring with a slow realization of con- 
finement. But as yet, the mass of men 
have not realized what it is they want. 
The rule of the Sara is so deep in their 
minds that the idea of rebellion against 
the Sara Mother cannot rise to con- 
scious levels. Mankind needs, in its 
restlessness demands, as never before, a 
leader about whom it can crystallize to 
express this restlessness in action. Drun- 



18 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



nel’s followers that will rebel against us 
are rebelling, symbolically, one might 
say, against the Sarn, since we represent 
the government the Sam allowed. 

“Drunnel has found, ready to hand, a 
mass of men who will act as he wants, to 
place him in the place of the men he 
hates. This is a fight between leaders, 
solely that. Only the leaders know why 
they are fighting. The people who will 
follow Drunnel against us will fight only 
because of a vague discontent that Dmn- 
nel has enlisted to aid him. Only Drun- 
nel knows what it is he wants; power 
and Deya. 

“Then he hopes to win the Mother to 
a new plan, not matriarchy, but a rule 
by men of a world of women. He knows 
the Mother’s feelings, her realization of 
mankind’s discontent, I believe. He 
hopes to compromise with her.” 

“He won’t,” said Ware softly. “I’ve 
spent hours near the Mother as the elec- 
trotechnician of the dty of the Sarn. 
She has her plans, and they are as 
Grayth said. But she plans further. 
For a year and a half Dmnnel will have 
power and hatred, but she will protect 
him. He will have near him — his wives 
— the best minds of the women, and she 
knows them : Deya, Thera, Gjson — ^you 
all know them. In a year and a half the 
Mother will withdraw her protection, 
and the hate he will have stirred will kill 
him. Some woman will avenge her man. 
Deya will be spokeswoman of man. For a 
day in her life, the Mother will suffer 
Drunnel and his annoyances, that the 
long-time plan may be carried out.” 

Carron stood up abruptly. The mas- 
sive old chair crashed over backward as 
he strode the length of the room, trem- 
bling, his great arms knotted with angry 
muscles, his three hundred pounds of 
bone and sinew quivering with wordless 
anger. 

II. 

WARE lingered a moment after the 
others had left Grayth. Slowly, he pre- 



pared to pack away his small kit of tools 
and apparatus. “^Aesir, our black lord, 
seems no nearer.” He sighed. 

Grayth nodded silently. Then he said, 
“Can you give me one of those demod- 
ulators, Ware? You are the only hope 
of success mankind can have, you and 
your discovery. You must not be seen 
visiting the spokesman too frequently, at- 
tending the executive conferences. As 
an electrotechnician you are part of the 
gray background of the Sarn city, we 
want no spotlights turned on you. By 
the telepath you can follow every confer- 
ence, and if you can teach me to operate 
that demodulator ” 

Ware’s usual slight stoop, the gray 
monotony of his work seemed to slip 
from him for a second as he stood erect, 
suddenly a powerful figure of a man, six 
feet tall, dark eyes set far under heavy 
brows, searching out with vibrant in- 
telligence. The easy lines of his face 
straightened and deepened as he gazed 
steadily at Grayth for a long, silent mo- 
ment. Slowly, he ran his lean-fingered 
hand across his head, wiping the tele- 
path band from his forehead. 

“I think that we will both be busy to- 
night, Grayth. You with the men whom 
you can handle, I — I have an appoint- 
ment with Aesir, whom I cannot 
handle.” A. slow smile spread across the 
lean, tanned cheeks. “If, in the morning, 
the problem is still pressing — come to my 
house. I will probably be behind the 
stone.” 

“There is to-night,” Grayth acknowl- 
edged sadly. “Let’s pray that to-mor- 
row the problem will still be pressing. 
Thank — er — Aesir, you have never ap- 
peared, that even Drunnel does not see 
you when you walk by with that kit of 
tools. If things so come that we — Bar- 
tel, Carron and I — are not here to press 
the problem to-morrow, I have this 
hope : that neither Sam nor Drunnel re- 
alize their true source of danger. 

“But do not come here again, please. 
Ware.” 



OUT OF NIGHT 



19 



“Maybe that would be best,” the elec- 
trotechnician agreed. He bent over to 
pack his apparatus, his tools once more. 

III. 

DRUNNEL looked up to the Moth- 
er’s slitted, vertical-pupiled eyes. Behind 
his own keen, dark eyes a swift, agile 
brain was weighing — guessing— -plan- 
ning. “But they are not so helpless; 
they have a weapon designed by one of 
their own men — a hand weapon that pro- 
jects small slugs of metal. An air gun.” 

The Mother’s expressionless eyes con- 
tinued to stare at him, unwinking, the 
smooth, coppery skin of her face unmov- 
ing, the delicate, barely unhuman face 
hiding the thoughts of more than four 
thousand years. “I do not mix with hu- 
man quarrels, save when they affect my 
Sarn,” she said softly. “If this quarrel 
of yours gets out of hand, I will send 
my legion to stop it. But Grayth does 
not please me, and he has no desire to 
enforce my laws. I will give you those 
things I mentioned, no more — the crown 
and the glow beam. You will have one 
thousand of each ; the rest of your forces 
will have to fight on terms equal with 
theirs. 

“Sthek Tharg, take them to the hall of 
arms and let them have those things.” 
The Sarn Mother’s eyes closed behind 
opaque, coppery sheaths ; she sat mo- 
tionlessly as the Sarn she had called un- 
coiled his arms and rose slowly from his 
padded chair. On noiseless, padded feet 
he stalked off across the great hall of 
assembly. Behind him, Drunnel and his 
six companions followed. 

“Call others,” Sthek Tharg snapped. 

“Rendan,” Drunnel spoke softly, “tell 
Sarsun we will need seventy-five men, 
preferably discreet men, at the gate just 
after dusk. Tliat will be in two hours 
now. I will send some one else to lead 
them when we are ready.” 

Rendan dropped from the group and 



hurried through the labyrinthine corri- 
dors to the outer park, down to the hu- 
man city. Drunnel followed his silent 
guide through unfamiliar passages, to an 
elevator that dropped them one thousand 
feet to a dank, cold corridor that lead off 
to unfathomed reaches of dimness, a cor- 
ridor lighted only sparsely by far-scat- 
tered atom-flame projectors burning at 
an absolute minimum. 

The Sarn started off firmly toward 
the left. Doors opened from the corri- 
dor at long intervals — doorways opening 
into dim-lighted halls burned by atomic 
blasts in native, sparkling granite. Some- 
thing of the crystalline fury of the blasts 
lingered yet in their glittering, scintillat- 
ing walls. Under dim lights, vague, vast 
structures of crystal and metal artd 
plastic loomed in indeterminate dusk. 
The feeble, dying sparks of atom stars 
served only to make horrific outlines 
discernible. Vast, many-legged things 
of metal, built with huge ropy things 
that dropped dejected near them — ropy 
things of glinting metal ending in things 
strangely like Sarn hands, with their 
many-boned flexibility. 

Other rooms were filled, cabinet above 
cabinet, with boxed devices — things that 
might, of course, be no more than search- 
lights. The armory of the Sarn ! Un-, 
used these four thousand years. 

Drunnel looked at the shrouded things 
with keen, dark eyes. His lean, mus- 
cular body never slowed in its step; the 
thin, almost ascetic face never turned. 
Only the dark eyes darted from dark 
doorway to huddled, half-glimpsed mass 
— ^the doorless doorways, without bar, 
or light-beam interceptor. The elevator 
answered to any being’s control. 

THE SARN turned his head, rotated 
it till his slitted eyes stared straight to 
Drunnel’s, while he walked steadily for- 
ward. The line-thin gash of his mouth 
opened in what might have been a smile. 
“I will get the crown and the weapon. 



20 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



It is not — ^advisable that humans cross 
the threshold of these doors.” 

He paused a moment, and the body 
and head rotated in opposite directions 
till, alike, they faced a dark doorway. 
He walked toward it, and as he crossed, 
a spark of the atom flame in the dim 
room’s ceiling floated down, living 
strangely long, to burst abruptly before 
him. It burned for perhaps ten seconds, 
dying with a shrill, clear, tinkling note 
during all those seconds, fading into 
dimness as the thin, keen note died 
with it. 

Drunnel, twenty feet away, relaxed 
slowly, his knees bending under his 
weight, till he crouched on the floor, 
his powerful, six-foot body crumpled un- 
der its own weight till he was on hands 
and knees, his head dangling in limp 
agony, all his muscles quivering, jerk- 
ing, dancing madly under his skin. 

The thin, sweet note died. Drunnel 
raised his head slowly, white as paper 
in the light of the corridor, streaked 
with sudden, clammy sweat. His dark 
eyes, bloodshot and wide now, stared 
into the slitted ruby eyes of the Sarn 
in the doorway. The Sam’s thin mouth 
twitched slightly as he moved into the 
room. The atom flame in the roof leaped 
up with his moving, and the cabinets of 
the rooms stood out in clear relief. 

Drunnel climbed slowly to his feet, 
dark, bloodshot eyes snapping with an 
inexpressible hatred that tugged at him 
like a living thing. One shaky, trem- 
bling step he made toward that door- 
way, insane anger flooding him. Then, 
slowly, his mind regained control as the 
agony washed from him, and he stood, 
trembling half from weakness, half from 
a mad desire to crush the thin-lipped 
mouth of Sthek Tharg. “Drunnel” — 
he turned, to see Grasun, an unsteady 
hand stretched toward his leader, staring 
up into his face with tortured, worried 
eyes — “don’t — stay here.” 

Drunnel snapped the hand from his 



sleeve. “I’ll stay,” he said softly. He 
glanced at the others; Farnos, leaning 
dazed against the wall, blood trickling 
from his nostrils ; Tomus working him- 
self to his feet with the aid of the rough 
wall ; Blysun swaying unsteadily on his 
feet. The others were still helpless on 
the floor. “He might have told us what 
was coming.” 

“He wanted to warn us — against en- 
tering the rooms — and didn’t, perhaps, 
realize how — strongly it affected us,” 
Farnos said. 

Drunnel looked at him silently. Far- 
nos dropped his eyes uneasily and strug- 
gled to his feet, one hand steadying him. 
The effects were passing swiftly. Inside 
the room rumbling wheels echoed softly ; 
the Sarn was pulling a little four-wheeled 
truck loaded with a hundred or more 
small gray cases, perhaps four by twelve 
by three inches, and a dozen or so round 
cases four inches thick and a foot in 
diameter. 

STHEK THARG stopped, just inside 
the door, and eyed them. “Perhaps,” he 
said ironically, “you would be more com- 
fortable farther from that doorway as 
I pass through.” He started forward. 
The humans scrambled away from him. 
They were fifty feet away when the thin, 
sweet note of a dying star of light 
thrilled through them, jerking, straining, 
quivering. Drunnel stood his ground, 
leaning slightly against the wall. The 
Sarn moved toward them, the low rum- 
ble of the rubber-shod wheels changing 
its note as the cart rolled into the cor- 
ridor. 

“Come here and take the crowns. 
They will protect you against the crys- 
tals — if you are not too close.” Drun- 
nel came toward him, took one of the 
round boxes, and from it the curious 
crown. It was a band of metal that 
circled his head, padded with rubber on 
the inner side, eight erect, outward- 
slanting metal rods, ending in dull- 



OUT OF NIGHT 



21 



golden globes, perhaps a quarter of an 
inch in diameter. Nested in the center, 
above the curve of his skull, a tiny 
mechanism was inclosed in golden metal. 

“It will .throw a sheath of energy about 
you which is proof against any material 
thing, and deadly to any being wielding 
a metal object against you. It holds in 
near stasis the molecules of the air, so 
that the sound of the crystals will not 
reach you — if you remain at a little dis- 
tance. And it is defense against the 
glow beam.” 

Drunnel mounted the thing on his 
head, slipping his headband of silver and 
enamel into his cloak pocket. He 
touched a tiny stud at his brow, and a 
slight shock of energy lanced him mo- 
mentarily. The Sam’s voice was soft- 
ened, muffled by its action, and he 
snapped it off. 

“The glow beam” — Sthek Tharg 
opened one of the flat boxes to disclose 
an object fashioned of black plastic, dully 
lustrous metal, and one single crystal — 
"carries a charge sufficient to paralyze, 
for a day, five hundred men, paralyze for 
a moment nearly one thousand, or para- 
lyze forever two hundred. This slide 
controls the action — this stud the dis- 
charge.” 

He raised it in flexible, many-boned 
. fingers, his almost tentaclelike arm loop- 
ing up with it. It pointed down the cor- 
ridor, and as he touched the stud briefly, 
a clear, sweet note seemed to dart down 
the faintly luminous beam that shot 
forth, to vanish in unseen reaches of the 
corridor. “Its range is about a third 
of a mile.” 

Dmnnel took another from its flat 
case, examined it, and put it quietly in 
his doak. The others were fitting the 
curious crowns to their heads, and, a 
moment later, unloading the little truck. 

Sthek Tharg returned to the dim 
room. Again the dying star shot to- 
ward him, and the atom flame leaped up. 
Drunnel touched the stud at his brow, 
and heard very dimly, as though far off, 



the sweet, torturing note of the crystal. 
It made his teeth hurt, as though an un- 
seen drill were working in their depths. 
He took five cautious steps toward the 
doorway, till sweat started from his face 
and his limbs began to tremble. He 
snapped off the stud and walked toward 
his men. They, too, were snapping off 
the energies 

"Grasun, turn yours on.” Drunnel 
watched ; there was an instant of waver- 
ing energy, as though a sheath of heat 
waves had risen suddenly about the man 
— then, nothing — nothing save the slight- 
est of distortions that only his expectant 
eye could detect, that, and the slightly 
duller appearance of the eight metal 
globes on the crown’s eight points. “Can 
you understand me readily ?” Drun- 
nel spoke in an ordinary tone. 

“Perfectly,” Grasun replied, nodding 
in confirmation. 

“Good. Turn it off. We will have 
to move these things to the elevator, 
then again to the gate of the Sarn city. 
And — there is something I want to find 



The Sarn returned with the small 
truck. Drunnel stood alone, watching 
his men carrying the last of the boxed 
weapons to the elevator. He started in 
surprise at the first note of the dying 
crystal, snapped the little stud as he 
turned to watch Sthek Tharg. The Sarn 
stepped through expressionlessly, the 
little truck behind him. Drunnel walked 
toward him as the notes died in the air, 
his hands reaching toward the piled 
boxes 

“Stop!” snapped the Sam. He fell 
back a hasty step, slitted ruby eyes blaz- 
ing angrily. “You have a sheath of 
energy around you, fool. Turn off that 
crown.” 

Drunnel looked at him, mumbled a 
vague apology as he turned the stud. 
Rapidly, he lifted the boxes from the 
truck; he had learned what he sought 
to know. The Sam were not immune 
to the sheath of the crown. 






ASTOUNDING STORIES 



22 

IV. 

DEYA opened the door at his knock, 
and Grayth stepped in with a backward 
glance at the dimly seen groups in the 
tree-shaded street. The last colors of 
simset were fading from the sky, and the 
darkness slowly saturated the clear, cool- 
ing air. The spring nights were not yet 
hot as they would be in another two 
weeks. A near-full moon hung halfway 
up the eastern sky, its light not yet ap- 
preciably affecting the dimness of the 
scene. 

Deya looked over his shoulder, and 
motioned him in. “They look more rest- 
less than ever, Grayth. Thera came this 
afternoon — she is fixing supper now — 
and told me that Bartel believed the ex- 
plosion would come soon” 

Grayth nodded slowly and shut the 
door behind his back. He looked unhap- 
pily into the clear, calm blue eyes raised 
to his, eyes like bits of cobalt glass in a 
delicately molded, determined face. Six 
feet two Grayth stood, but Deya was a 
resurgence of a four-thousand-year for- 
gotten blood, a clear, Norse strain. Her 
eyes were not three inches below his, her 
red-gold hair, her clean-lined body the 
living remembrance of a race human 
minds had forgotten. 

Grayth sighed, took her in his arms. 
“The explosion will come to-night, dear 
girl. In three weeks — or never — we will 
be able to end this indeterminacy.” 

Deya’s hands rested lightly on his 
shoulders as she leaned backward 
slightly to see him more clearly. His 
lean, strong face was set and serious, 
the etched-iron eyes worried. “The 
Mother has helped Drunnel as you 
feared?” 

Grayth nodded. His finger touched 
the telepath disk at his brow. “Have 
you tried to follow any of his men’s 
thoughts to-day?” 

Deya smiled. “No, I tried to follow 
yours. I could not for seme reason, only 
occasional snatches of ideas. You were 



very angry about four o’clock this after- 
noon.” 

Grayth nodded. “We had a confer- 
ence. Drunnel has gotten weapons, and 
though I cannot follow his mind, as you 
know, I did follow that of Rendan. But 
Rendan was sent to gather men to carry 
away the weapons the Mother gave, and 
did not follow everything that hap- 
pened. By Aesir, I wish I could follow 
Drunnel. That he should be one of those 
rare, complete nontelepaths!” 

“What are the weapons ?” Deya asked. 

Grayth shrugged. “Rendan did not 
know — nor, I believe, did Drunnel, But 
you know what I have said ; the Mother 
will not give him either a hopelessly 
powerful, or hopelessly numerous stock 
of weapons. I suspect a weak weapon 
of attaclc, and a powerful weapon of 
defense for a few.” 

“Let’s go out to the kitchen.” Deya 
moved in his arms, and started away. 
“Thera hopes Bartel will be able to 
come.” For a moment the cobalt-blue 
eyes clouded in inner concentration, as 
did Grayth’s. They nodded together as 
Bartel’s thoughts reached them, weak 
and unclear with distance. He was com- 
ing. 

For a moment more Grayth caught 
the strong, lithe body in his arms, then 
they moved on to the kitchen. Thera 
had placed a table on the stone-flagged 
terrace behind the kitchen, under the 
trellis work of dark-leaved climbing 
roses. A few first buds were opening in 
the cool night air. The last washing 
colors of simset had faded from the 
sky and the shadows now were those cast 
by the moon, and by the silently flaring 
atomic-flame projector. 

The table was set and the food being 
brought when Bartel knocked. Thera 
went to admit him, and as she passed 
Grayth he suggested softly that she bolt 
the door when Bartel had entered. 

A MOMENT LATER the two re- 
turned. “They are standing around in 



OUT OF NIGHT 



23 



groups,” Bartel said, seating himself 
wearily. “I got a number of hate 
thoughts, and a number of friendly 
thoughts as I passed them. The groups 
seem about equally distributed as to sym- 
pathy, and I thinh that is one reason why 
I was not bothered at all on my way 
here. Perhaps we had best eat quickly. 
We may be — called out later.” 

Three quarters of an hour later, 
Grayth and Bartel sat in the moon dusk, 
puffing slowly at their pipes. Deya and 
Tliera moved quietly, stacking and wash- 
ing utensils. Grayth pulled a small, flat 
jar from his cloak and put it on the table, 
looking questioningly toward Bartel. 
“Perhaps we might apply a little now.” 

Bartel grunted. “Moon cream. Does 
it work as well as Ware thought it 
might ?” 

Grayth smiled. “Better. I see you 
are wearing your official crimson and 
blue. Mine are alx>ut the same. With 

this ” Grayth rubbed the paste over 

his hands and arms to the elbows, then 
over his face and neck. It vanished on 
his skin, colorless and invisible, in the 
light of the atomic flame. He rose and 
walked the length of the terrace, down 
into the garden, where only the pale 
moonlight reached him. As he stepped 
into the shadow of a gnarled, spreading, 
apple tree — he vanished, a black shadow 
in blackness. As he stepped out into the 
moonlight again, crimson cloak, dark- 
blue jacket and trousers, face and hands 
alike were jet black. Slowly, he re- 
joined Bartel. 

“It works,” agreed Bartel, smearing 
the colorless stuff into his skin. “I hope 
it’s harmless.” 

“It is. A hannless substance that will 
not reflect polarized light. You know 
the moonlight will not show colors— 
though the eye and the brain are tricked 
by it. To-night it will serve both to 
make us invisible in shadow, and as a 
badge; Drunnel does not have it. All 
our men do.” 

“Carron was gathering the men and 



distributing these things when I left 
him.” Bartel looked out over the moon- 
lighted town. “He was still busy. 
Listen !” 

A voice cried out somewhere in the 
direction of the square, the center of 
the human town — a dim, unrecognizable 
voice, crying out a blurred word time 
and again. Other voices joined. It 
grew and washed across the city, a 
many-times-repeated chant that grew 
with its moving, washing toward them 
in unrecognizable syllables, till a half 
dozen voices two hundred feet away took 
it up with a gleeful howl : “Drunnel — 
Drunnel!” Feet pounded with a muf- 
fled beat acros.s lawns, hardening mo- 
mentarily as they traversed stone-flagged 
walks, dying in the distance. 

“He v.’as busy, but the human town 
is annular, with the huge area of the 
Sam city in the middle. Many men 
from the far sections had not been able to 
reach him yet. We were not able to use 
the vision instruments to spread our 
messages — Drunnel, since he has the 
Mother’s help, did,” Bartel finished hur- 
riedly. 

“He has another swift method of com- 
munication,” Grayth pointed out. “It 
has rolled around the city in less than a 
minute and a half. They will be pouring 
into the square.” 

Somewhere outside a man shouted, 
screamed a curse as a muffled thonk cut 
it off abruptly. A bedlam was loosed, a 
score of cursing voices, a great bull- 
roaring voice giving orders, scurrying 
feet and the clang of metal on metal — 
and on flesh. It stopped with a long- 
drawn, thin scream that died away in 
gurgling bubbles of sound. The door of 
the cottage trembled to heavy blows. 

GRAYTH was halfway through the 
house before the second blow sounded, 
moving in slow-seeming strides that pro- 
pelled him, as though half floating 
through kitchen and hallway. In his 
hand a bluely lustrous bit of metal 



24 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 




A roaring column of the atomic blast — a force designed to wash down 
mountains — vomited forth — - 





^ ^ •• 




OUT OF NIGHT 






'I am not matter, nor of forces such as your beams, your rays can touch, 
I am all of mankind that has ever been “ 




26 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



gleamed. “Who’s there?’’ he demanded. 

“Carron, ye fool. Let me in. There’s 
more coming down the street, and 
there’s no need for arguing with them.’’ 
Carron burst in. an immense figure in 
tom greenish cloak of the legion of peace, 
a dozen men at his heels. In his im- 
mense hand a three-inch-lhick table leg, 
knicked deeply in three places, and 
smeared with blood, seemed a tbin wand. 
The door bellowed like a sail in the wind, 
as his huge hand cuffed it shut. • “Bars,” 
he grunted. Two of his men slammed 
over the heavy metal, locking bolts. 

“They’ve started, Grayth, and my men 
are gathering. They put their messages 
out faster, since they could use the vision 
— and we couldn’t. Damn the Sarn! 
But we’ll be evenly matched in the 
square, if the Mother didn’t give Drun- 
nel half her armory.” 

“She didn’t,” Grayth answered posi- 
tively. “I told you she wants us matched 
— with Drunnel having a bit of an edge.” 
“Why couldn’t we use the vision 
asked Thera, looking into the crowded 
room. 

“Perhaps you had best lower those 
shutters,” said Deya softly, “or turn out 
the lights. You are conspicuous and 
crowded in that window.” 

Carron smiled broadly at her, duck- 
ing his head to pass under the door beam 
six and a half feet from the floor. “I 
should have thought of that.” He 
reached for the control rope, and the 
thin metal vanes of the shutter slipped 
almost noiselessly into place over the 
windows. 

“The vision central offices are in Sarn 
city,” Deya explained to Thera. “The 
Sarn watch them ; they offer no chance to 
send through messages we would want 
and the Sam did not. Coded messages 
might work, if every man knew the code, 
but if every man knew, the Sarn would 
also know soon enough.” 

“The rest of the speakers are coming 
here later,” Grayth said to Carron. “We 
must get them here safely ” 



“I sent three strong detachments to 
gather them in,” Carron grunted. “And 
I came here myself. I’m going to get 
the whole let of ye in here and throw 
one good guard ring about the place. 
That’ll save me men and allow a better 
guard. I’ve got men in every house 
about here ; not a man of Drunnel’s could 
weave his way through without alarm 
being sent in. The moonlight is tricky, 
a crawling man seems a bit of a sbrub, 
but these men are in their own houses. 
By'^Aesir, they know what shrubs they 
have — and Drunnel’s men have no face- 
blackening moon cream.” 

“They have lamp black,” said Deya. 
“They may use that.” 

“If they think of it. It makes them 
conspicuous then when they are in the 
light.” Carron nodded. “What plans 
'have you made, Grayth ?” 

“No detailed plans, for w'e are not 
ready. Had we had another month — 
even a week, perhaps — we might have 
learned then to summon Aesir to our aid, 
and we had plans for that. But now — 
we must do as we can. Look ; first the 
leaders, the speakers, must be concen- 
trated and guarded here. Then, to stop 
this battle, we must somehow destroy 
three men; Drunnel, Rendan and Gra- 
sun. Beyond that’ succession the power 
of the leadership is not determined 
among them, and they’d fight among 
themselves. If that could be done this 
night, the month we need would be 
gained. The Mother would see that one 
of the others took up the fight, but not 
immediately ; time would elapse. Drun- 
nel, Rendan and Grasun.” 

“Right.” Carron nodded. “But they’ll 
be" at the square, in the center of their 
men. They’ll be hard men to catch, and 
quick-footed men.” 

Grayth touched his headband fleet- 
ingly, his eyes intent on Carron. “We 
may be. able to outguess them.” Car- 
ron’s eyes lighted with understanding. 
“Aye — we might. We can try.” 

“The speakers with their escorts are 



OUT OF NIGHT 



27 



almost here,” Deya said, her eyes clear- 
ing from an effort of concentration. 
“Perhaps the door ” 

A MAN sprang to draw the bolts as 
a knock sounded outside. A moment 
later ten men in the crimson cloaks of 
the speakers entered, crowding about in 
the tiny room. Fifty men in the dark 
green of the legion of peace, and a 
score in civilian motley waited outside. 
Carron stepped to the door. “A line 
of you — about the cottage and move 
outward till you surround the block. 
Make sure there’s no man of Drunnel’s 
within your line.” 

The men faded into nothingness un- 
der the shadowed trees, vanishing in ^- 
lence and darkness under the deceptive 
moonlight, seeming so bright, yet actu- 
ally colorless and dim. Carron closed 
and barred the door behind him. 

“We’ll take those men and join at 
the square. I haven’t heard a sound 
since the call of Drunnel’s men,” Grayth 
said. “I’ll go with you, Carron, and 
we’ll start at once. Somehow we must 
get Drunnel, Rendan and Grasun.” 

“They won’t agree with us,” said Bar- 
tel sourly. “They no doubt have sim- 
ilar plans on you. It seems to me that 
you would be much better off staying 
here and letting us do that, for just as 
surely as Drunnel’s forces collapse with 
bis disappearance, ours collapse if you 
are taken. The battle would be over, 
right enough— with Drunnel in power.” 

Grayth shook his head. “The speak- 
ers are here ; they will be goal for many 
of Drunnel’s men, but Drunnel will not 
want them,” he said softly. “Drunnel 
wants me, and you. Therefore, we will 
go where he cannot find us. If we stay, 
he can lay plans to attack us. If we are 
somewhere in the city, our group can 
lay plans of defense, knowing where we 
are, while Drunnel, not knowing, can- 
not plan attack. And — we have work.” 

Bartel stepped through the door after 
him. As the three faded into the shad- 



ows, the dry grating of the bolts rattled 
the door behind them. In a moment 
their eyes became accustomed to the 
moonlight, the dimness seemed to roll 
back, and the silvery light grew stronger. 
Presently it seemed that it was illumina- 
tion as effective, as strong as daylight. 
Then, abruptly, a shadowy being 
emerged from the darkness under a tree, . 
appearing as though from thin air. 
“TTiere’s no one between the cottage 
here and the ring of watchers,” he mur- 
mured. 

Carron nodded. “Gather the men 
near — •Phalun’s cottage. We’ll make 
for the square.” Carron hefted the ta- 
ble leg in his hand, and slipped into the 
shadow with the others. Grayth halted 
him, took the heavy weapon from him. 

“Whatever the Mother has given 
them, it will more than likely be electric 
in nature,” he said after a moment. 
“Discard metal and take wooden weap- 
ons. Warn your men against metal 
things.” 

At the corner of a tree-shadowed cot- 
tage they met the troop of men, and 
Carron passed the warning along. The 
soft clink and thud of metal followed 
slowly, reluctantly. The force dispersed 
quietly, groups of two and three wan- 
dering off to return moments later, si- 
lent, drifting shadows in the moonlight, 
carrying faintly lustrous table legs and 
chair legs of nonconducting, plastic 
material, one with a five-foot, pointed 
plastic rod ripped • from an atom-flame 
projector. And at the hip of each swung 
the blued-metal air guns. 

SILENT, drifting ghosts they passed 
down the streets, scattered under clumps 
of moon shadow, following the lawns 
and dust-muffled roads. Slow accre- 
tions joined the party as the stragglers 
from outlying districts appeared. Three 
times there were brief scufflings and 
cries that were silenced under dull, muf- 
fled blows. White faces in the moonlight 
looked up sightlessly as they passed on 



28 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



— white faces, the badge of Drunnel’s 
men. 

There were lights in the square ahead, 
far down the street. Early arrivals stood 
about in tense idleness, awaiting the 
coming of reenforcements for both sides. 
Grayth turned down a side street, cross- 
ing at right angles toward the sound of 
a compact body of men advancing on a 
parallel street. A moment later they 
saw them, dark figures with white faces, 
marching toward the square, a group of 
half a dozen in the lead, wearing curious 
gemmed crowns and carrying foot-long 
instruments in their hands. 

The drifting shadows in the deeper 
shadow of trees dispersed, vanished save 
for little wraiths of blackness moving 
behind cottages, in absolute silence. The 
troop of Drunnel’s men moved on alertly, 
eyes darting about, clubs and knives at 
the ready. A dense mass df^hree great 
trees darkened the road ahead, and they 
marched into it. 

A dozen were down before they fully 
realized the assault. Carron’s great voice 
boomed out in exaltation as he recog- 
nized the leader. “Grasun. by Aesir, 
Grasun !” A roar went up from the 
compact group of Grasun’s companions. 

And through it came the sweet, thrill- 
ing, killing note of the glow beam Gra- 
sun carried in his hand. Its faint light 
shot out straight for the black shadow 
of a charging man bearing the mace 
of a bulky table leg in his upraised 
hands. The beam touched him, sang 
through him, and roared in sweet, chill- 
ing vibrations as though his twisting, 
tortured body were a sounding board. 
The men near him writhed and fell, 
twisting, helpless, their • weapons drop- 
ping from numbed, paralyzed hands. 
Drunnel’s men charged forward with a 
cry of triumph as the beam of the 
glow tube swerved. Again the thin, 
shrill note stabbed out toward a dark- 
ened figure. For a moment he glowed, 
writhing, falling, his joints cracking sud- 
denly as maddened muscles distorted him 



impossibly, his dying body a sounding 
resonator that paralyzed those near him. 

Another glow beam came into action 
as Carron’s great figure lunged forward, 
the table leg upraised in huge arms. 
Leaping Drunnelians tumbled from the 
mighty, charging body ; for a fraction of 
a second he loomed over Grasun. 

Grasun stared up, his white face lifted 
to the moonlight, a smile of pure joy in 
it as he turned his weapon slowly to- 
ward the colossus towering six inches 
above him, three hundred pounds of 
bone and sinew. The table leg crashed 
down toward what Grasun knew was im- 
penetrable. invisible, shielding force. He 
pressed the stud of his gun as the mace 
contacted his shield, with all the force 
and momentum Carron’s shoulders could 
give it. 

Grasun fell to the ground, while the 
pale beam of his ray shrieked its way 
through the treetops. Carron dropped 
his splintered club from numbed fingers. 
The sheer momentum of the blow, un- 
able to crack the shield though it may 
have been, served to stun the man in- 
side by the vicious jerking it imparted 
to him. Carron saw the strange, glow- 
ing rod wavering toward him again, felt 
the stunning impact of another attack- 
er’s club on his shoulder, and spun with 
a roar of rage. His immense hands 
closed on the attacker, the giant arms 
lifted him like a squalling child above 
Carron’s shoulders, to crash him on the 
force shield of the fallen man. A high, 
thin wail of terror escaped him as the 
arcing energies of the field crashed 
through him. He fell, a smoldering, 
quivering thing, at the feet of Grasun. 

“Rocks !’’ roared Carron, leaping from 
the scene of battle. “Rocks for those 
with the crowns ! Bombard ’em !’’ 

OTHERS of Grayth’s men had not 
leaped so hastily to close contact. The 
soft coughing air guns were bringing 
down many of the Drunnelians, groan- 
ing as heavy slugs broke bones, silent 



OUT OF NIGHT 



29 



when they struck an instantly vital spot. 
The bullets fell away from those who 
wore the crowns, who stood unscathed, 
their whining weapons of the Sarn 
Mother stabbing at vague shadows re- 
treated now into the greater shadows of 
the trees. 

A cobble of granite the size of a man’s 
head hurtled out of the darkness toward 
Grasun as he staggered uncertainly to 
his feet — a cobble hurled by an unseen 
giant. The shield deflected it, stopped it, 
but the meshed forces transmitted shat- 
tering momentum to the man who wore 
the crown. Grasun huddled on his knees, 
shaking his head, his weapon fallen to 
the ground beside him. 

“Rocks !’’ Carron roared. “Rocks — 
big rocks, you blasted, withering idiots ! 
Not pebbles, you howling fools, rocks! 
They have a shield-^a shield of force. 
But it shakes ’em when the rocks hit 



“Throw at Grasun.” Grayth’s voice 
snapped out of the night, low and tensely 
dear. “A dozen of you — heavy stuff.” 

A rain of granite cobbles, unearthed 
from a forgotten pile, stonned out of the 
night. Half a dozen struck the fallen 
man’s shield with a blasting force. From 
barely within the protective shadow of 
the tree, Carron’s huge arms heaved a 
boulder of eighty pounds weight. The 
deadly thing crashed down on the strain- 
ing shield with a snapping of energies, 
held for a moment as though bouncing 
on unseen rubber, and fell to one side. 
Grasun rolled end over end under the 
impact, struggling dazedly to rise. His 
voice called out in muffled syllables to the 
milling men around him, but they dared 
not help him; the shield was death to 
touch. 

“Carron — Carron — think !” Grayth’s 
clear, sharp voice penetrated the roar of 
fighting men. Carron stopped be- 
wildered for a moment, then strong in 
the telepath came his orders. Immedi- 
ately his great hands swept a dozen 
others of his men into formation about 



him, each with a boulder in his hands. 
They burst from the shadows, and 
heavy rocks flew. The crowned men fell, 
staggered aside at the heavy burst of am- 
munition. The giant charged in at the 
head of his men, two great table legs 
flailing in his hands. The disorganized 
mob of Drunnelians parted as he ch^lrged 
toward the groggy Grasun. But before 
he came too near the invisible death of 
the shield, he bent and picked up the 
glow-beam projector Grasun had 
dropped. Carron fled again to the pro- 
tective trees. 

Boulders were effective on crowned 
and unshielded alike. The steady rain 
of deadly ammunition was disrupting the 
aim of the glow-beam wielders. The 
apologetic little cough of the air guns 
in the hands of practiced men were mak- 
ing the Drunnelians fall like blighted 
grain. 

The last of Drunnel’s unshielded men 
were down, or gone. Half a dozen 
wearers of the crowns stood in a tight 
circle, firing their strange death into the 
shadows. Grayth joined Carron beneath 
a great tree, and took from him the slim, 
warm tube of the weapon taken from the 
fallen Grasun. “A man you can trust,” 
he snapped. “Send it to Ware ; we must 
get others. Don’t let those men escape ; 
we must get Grasun.” 

“Tarnor— take this. You know the 
house of Ware. Take it to him. Run.” 
The man was a crawling figure, sprint- 
ing across a lawn, then gone from sight. 
“Now” — Carron turned to Grayth — “we 
can keep their fire ineffective so long as 
the rocks hold out, but how can we 
crush those shields ? It is death to toudi 
them, it seems. I saw eight of their 
own men die when they stumbled into 
them.” 

A man materialized out of shadow be- 
side Carron, a great wooden bucket in 
his hands, his invisible face split by a 
toothy grin. Carron took the thing in 
huge hands, and stepped forward; his 
huge arms creaked to the strain as it 



30 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



leaped into the air, to fall in a silver rain 
over the shielded men, running, trickling, 
wetting the ground at their feet. From 
another side another bucket leaped into 
the air, to drop over them, some few 
drops resting for a moment on the in- 
visible sheath in darting, arcing energies. 
Another and another 

Grasun howled — & shrill scream of 
terror and agony. Water had short- 
circuited the thing on his head ; it was 
smoking ; as he tore it from him it grew 
red-hot — white; it exploded with a roar 
of sound a burst of incandescent energy 
that limned attackers and attacked alike 
in glaring light. Grasun fell to the 
ground twitching, rolling — and sud- 
denly stilled ^ he touched the hem of 
another’s shield. A roar of triumph 
went up from every tree, every cottage 
corner. 

V. 

THE pistoled legion of peace had 
been driven into the buildings surround- 
ing the square. In the center of the 
square, surrounded by two score figures, 
Drunnel and Rendan directed the battle. 

Grayth waited in the darkness just 
beyond, while Carron closed up his com- 
munications. Darting runners brought 
messages. Eyes dulled with an inner 
concentration, Grayth sat motionless, 
gathering information by telepath from 
a hundred hidden points, from men in 
the cottage they had left, from Deya, 
from Ware in his underground work- 
shop. The secret of the glow beam 

“The shield muffles voices,’’ Grayth 
said to Carron. “They also stop the 
glow beam then, for Ware says it pro- 
jects a beam that carries an ultra-sonic 
vibration that is death to mEui — ^and 
probably harmless to Sarn.’’ 

Carron grunted. “The men in the 
buildings had already found the danger 
of metal, but they hadn’t learned the 
trick of the rocks. 1-^ — ” 

Somewhere in a building, lightless and 
{darkened, a sudden, terrific glare ap- 



peared. The windows were solid squares 
of thrusting radiance, spotlight beams 
that shot their brilliant knives through 
weak moonlight to limn for an instant 
the crouching figures in the center of the 
square. Drunnel stood up, baldly out- 
lined against a fierce beam of light, his 
face surprised, startled. 

“Water.” Grayth smiled. “I got the 
message through to Paultur. One of 
Drunnel’s shielded men was trying to 
drive them out of the building. I won- 
der ” His eyes closed for a mo- 

ment. “No, the weapon was destroyed, 
too.” 

Another virulent flash burned through 
the windows of a near-by house ; in the 
first a duller, redder light was growing. 
Men were darting out of the place, 
smoke trailing behind them. The ex- 
ploding crown had set fire to the age- 
dried woodwork. 

Men were filtering out of the shad- 
ows, dim clots of a more solid black in 
the blackness under the tree. A fitful 
redness was growing in the moon- 
drenched square as the ancient wood- 
, work of the ignited house yielded to the 
growing flame. The dimly seen mes- 
sengers came near to Carron, ^>eaking 
in low voices, Carron’s deep bass growl- 
ing in reply, till they vanished again on 
some mission of communication. 

“Grayth,” the giant’s voice rumbled 
in its softest tones, “the men in the 
buildings can’t get near enough to Drun- 
nel’s group to throw the heavy rocks. 
The glow beams make it impossible, and 
until they get near they can’t disturb the 
aim. Is there any way we can shield 
our men against the beams ?” 

Grayth was silent, but in his telepath 
Carron could feel the tenuous thread of 
mind energies reaching out to Ware, to 
others of their group. And dimly, he 
could feel Ware’s answering thought. 
Screening — each man wrapped in sheet 
metal carefully grounded, worn over a 
thick padding of cotton, or quilting. 

. Carron muttered disgustedly. Grayth 



OUT OF NIGHT 



31 



looked up at him, nodding. “Impossi- 
ble, I know.” 

Shielded men were leaking away from 
the group in the center of the square, 
darting down narrow side streets before 
the rocks hurled from near-by buildings 
could knock them from their feet. Other 
shielded men were coming toward the 
square from every direction, men from 
more distant sections of the annular city. 
They were waiting in the back streets 
outside the square, mo”«ng in restless 
circles. 

CARRON touched Grayth’s .sleeve. 
“We can’t do it in this try, Grayth,” he 
growled. “The shielded ones with their 
weapons are surrounding the square. 
We’ll be caught helplessly if we don’t 
retreat. I’ve sent word to those others 
that ” 

“If we don’t reach Ehunnel to-night, 
we’ll never be able to,” Grayth groaned. 
“The Sarn Mother will give him better 
weapons, and waverers who had joined 
us will transfer to him when they see us 
in retreat.” 

"We must retreat at once,” insisted 
Carron unhappily. “If we only had 
some means of swift communication — ^if 
we, had only been able to map out a plan, 
and put it across to all our scattered 
people. We didn’t have time ; we didn’t 
know what weapons Drunnel would have 
until too late. I know now what we 
should have done. Perhaps it is not too 
late, if we can once join our forces. Be- 
cause all meetings have always been 
held in the square, all our men are rush- 
ing toward it. I’ll call the men out of 
those buildings at ” 

A wild rush of feet sounded down the 
great, radial artery. A hundred men 
with the darkened faces of Grayth’s sup- 
porters swept down the street, half a 
dozen glow tubes, in their hands, and 
many empty water pails among them. 
The hidden men in the buildings of the 
square cheered them on, and a fusillade 
of air-gun pellets rattled on the stone 



flags. The mass of men broke up, scat- 
tering before they came in range of the 
pale beams of death. Long before Car- 
ron’s messenger reached them their com- 
pact formation was gone ; they were 
filtering through back streets into every 
building of the square. 

But Carron’s runner brought back a 
new interpretation of this reenforcement ; 
they were not running to the charge, but 
falling back before more than fifty 
armed, shielded Drunnelians. Another 
band of Grayth’s men rushed in from an- 
other artery, vanishing like smoke in 
shadows and shadowed buildings. The 
torch lighted by an exploding crown was 
growing ; the red flare of a burning 
building was rapidly making the moon- 
light unimportant, the moon cream use- 
less. The fire was spreading. 

Two score of Drunnel ’s fighters ap- 
peared down the street that had recently 
brought Carron’s green-cloaked legion- 
naires. Carron settled back under the 
tree in helpless rage. “We won’t re- 
treat, Grayth. We can’t now, for Drun- 
nel has driven half our men into this 
square, between his central, unassailable 
group and the ring of other men, and 
the buildings sheltering them are burn- 
ing. I haven’t seen a score of Drunnel’s 
unshielded fighters; they’re probably in 
the outskirts, keeping the rest of our men 
from relieving those inside the ring.” 

Grayth looked at the spreading 
flames consuming the buildings. Stone 
for the most part, they were roofed with 
metal or slate, but the floors, walls and 
supporting beams were of wood. These 
were burning furiously. A burning 
house collapsed as he watched, the fierce 
heat of the internal furnace crumbling 
age-hardened mortar, loosening the aged 
stone. 

Drunnel stood in the light of the fire, 
watching his circling fighters on the out- 
skirts. His arms moved, giving orders, 
pointing out directions of movement. A 
messenger ran toward a broad artery, 
down which a score of wcaponed men 



32 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



were moving. A rain of half a hundred 
great stones crushed him to the ground 
and a stream of water drowned his 
screen into exploding fire as he passed 
too near a house. Another messenger 
started after him, dodging, running in 
irregular movements. A well-thrown 
rock knocked him from his feet, and a 
steady rain of thfem held him helpless till 
water drowned his screen in turn. A 
roar of angry triumph went up. 

Drunnel’s arm stayed another man 
who started toward a broader road. 
Drunnel shook his head, shrugged his 
shoulders as the man motioned violently, 
attempted to pull away. 

“They can’t enter the buildings,” Car- 
ron growled. “The water and rocks 
stop that. But they don’t have to. The 
fire is already there.” He nodded to- 
ward a group of men working on a roof 
top with a garden hose, their dark-green 
cloaks flapping in the faint wind. A 
glow beam reached up from somewhere 
beyond the square, and a man crum- 
pled in death. Three near him stiffened 
and jerked, one to slide from his posi- 
tion into the growing furnace. 

A MESSENGER panted up from the 
shadows, the glow of the flames giving 
color to his cloak, washing the blackness 
of the moonlight from his face. In his 
hand he held three of the crowns. His 
face split in a grin. “They don’t have 
— them turned — on — all the time.” 

Grayth stepped forward eagerly. 
“Three of them. How did you get them 
intact ?” 

“A dozen of us — we saw them com- 
ing down the road, and hid in the shad- 
ows. They did not have their shields 
turned on, and three fell in the first vol- 
ley of the air guns. The others we 
washed out with water, but these we 
saved.” 

“Well,” Carron pointed out bitterly, 
“that improves the odds. We now have 
three effective men who can stand up 
against tlieir near thousand — maybe. 



Your technician friend may be able to 
duplicate them, though — in a month.” 

“Tarnsun,” Graytli called softly to the 
figure half visible in the light of the 
flames, “take this to Ware. You can 
penetrate the lines Drunnel is drawing 
about us by wearing this, turned on full. 

If Never mind, just go back and 

wait.” Grayth had caught the weary 
denial Ware had sent. Grayth’s thought 
had reached Ware at once, reached a 
tired, immensely busy technician, strug- 
gling with things of more immediate con- 
sequence. 

Grayth turned the things in his hand, 
gave one to Carron. The giant spoke 
suddenly, pointing toward the square. 
One of the shielded men had stepped 
from the group, carrying a blazing ball 
of cotton on the end of a bit of wire. It 
sailed out from his arm to land on the 
roof of the building near the artery down 
which their messengers had attempted to 
go. It blazed feebly for a moment and 
went out. But a dozen more followed 
it, blazing, oil-soaked cotton wrapped 
around a stone. Light things that could 
be hurled a distance the heavy rocks 
Carron’s men had used could not cover. 
Three crashed through windows. The 
feeble blazes grew stronger. Water 
hissed viciously ; for a moment the flame 
wavered, then grew swiftly brilliant. 

I>ark figures dropped from windows 
to dart toward near-by buildings. Four 
stopped halfway, never to reach their 
goal, as glow beams found them. The 
red flower of the flames spread slowly 
at first : then windows burst in the heat 
and they grew swiftly. The house on 
the opposite corner was burning now. 

A messenger walked down the alley 
between the flames to a group of shielded 
men beyond. They moved away in 
planned unison when he reached them, 
the band splitting in two, marching in 
opposite directions about the square. 

Carron stiffened suddenly ; his eyes 
darted sideward toward Grayth’s shad- 
owed figure. Grayth, too, was stiffened, 



OUT OF NIGHT 



33 



tense. A soft, unreal voice whispered 
in their minds, a voice and more than a 
voice, for with it whispered sights and 
sounds and odors: soft odors of a gar- 
den under moonlight, the sounds of men 
crashing through ruined flower beds, 
and the thrilling, keening wail of the 
glow beams. A garden in black and 
white, scattered with darting figures 
hurling water pails and rocks at an ad- 
vancing troop of thirty shielded figures. 
Deya was watching through a window, 
with a score of the divisional speakers 
about her. The troop of Carron’s legion- 
naires were falling back before the con- 
certed assault of a mass of shielded, 
armed Drunnelians. 

“They can’t stop them,’’ Grayth mut- 
tered. 

Carron’s voice rumbled unintelligibly. 
“We didn’t.’’ 

“Another month — even a week, per- 
haps — and we might have learned to 
summon Aesir to aid us. Do you think 
the Mother knew — ^that she did this just 
early enough to prevent us ’’ 

“What can we do now?’’ Carron de- 
manded. “We might try a mass attack 
— all of the men swarming at once down 
on Drunnel and Rendan there ’’ 

“Rendan isn’t there.’’ Grayth sighed. 
“It was he who went to the outer ring 
to order them. A mass attack would 
only lead to a thousand deaths for every 
one we have had to-night. There are 
nearly five thousand of our friends in 
those buildings. Somehow they must be 
released.’’ 

SLOWLY, Grayth got to his feet. 
Deya’s thought pictures came so clear 
to his mind that it seemed almost that 
he must avoid the old oak which stood 
by the flagged terrace where he had eaten 
dinner, and the charging Drunnelians be- 
hind their shields. The last of Carron’s 
green-cloaked legjionnaires was’ down. 
They would not use their glow beams on 
the speakers; Grayth knew with a ter- 

AST— 3 



rible certainty that they would not use 
them on Deya and Thera. 

Grayth reached to his forehead and 
touched the little stud of the crown he 
had donned. Carron watched him in 
surprise, started after him as he walked 
out of the shadow of the tree into the full 
light of tTie flames. “Stay there, Car- 
ron,’’ Grayth called. Then he was strid- 
ing across the last of the lawn onto the 
flagged pavement of the square. He 
stood still for a moment, as a half dozen 
glowing beams lanced toward him, to die 
soundlessly against the invisible sheath 
of his crown. The beams stopped. Drun- 
nel stej^ed toward him, till he stood in 
the forefront of his little force. 

“What terms, Drunnel?” Grayth 
called. The sheath seemed to drink in 
his voice, but somehow Drunnel had 
heard. 

Drunnel laughed softly. “And may 
I ask, why terms? Why should I want 
terms from you?” 

“Because you have no real desire to 
destroy these men in the buildings.” 
Grayth nodded to the silent watchers in 
the windows facing the square. “Be- 
cause you only want to make sure that I 
do not escape — and because you cannot 
hold me. We have captured a score or 
so of these crowns the Mother gave you. 
With them I, a score or so of my men, 
Deya, Thera — and a , few others — can 
leave you. We will have time and op- 
portunity then to do something more, 
perhaps. But certainly I can find nvy 
way to safety on this world you cannot 
ever hope to search, Jhough the Sarn 
Mother herself should aid you. 

Grayth looked at Drunnel steadily, 
wondering. Drunnel had, of course, no 
way of knowing how many crowns had 
been captured intact. One, at least, he 
knew. And he had no way of knowing 
that Deya and Thera were even then 
arguing with a group of shielded men 
lead by Barthun. 

“What do you want ?” Drunnel spoke 



34 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



after a moment’s silence, broken Only by 
the crackling lap of the flames, the rest- 
less creak of ancient houses crowded 
now with men. 

“The men that fought for me go free, 
every man or woman or child you have 
surrounded, captured or blockaded. I 
will surrender to you.” 

“I do not like your terms.” Drunnel 
laughed. “You cannot escape from this 
point now; the outer ring of my men 
would stop you.” 

Grayth shook his head. “You know 
better than that. What offer will you 
make ?” 

“I will release these men and women 
of no importance; but I will demand 
your surrender, and that of Bartel, Car- 
ron, and the spokesmen of the districts.” 
Drunnel stood out before his men, his 
dark eyes flashing, a smile of sweeping 
satisfaction on his face. “And that is 
concession enough for what I hold in 
my hand this night. What fight have 
you, Grayth? Your men are bottled be- 
tween my inner center here, and my 
outer ring. And the fire spreads in be- 
tween. 

“A clever trick your water was, and 
clever enough that hurling of rocks, but 
it gains you nothing. I have more sense 
of realities than you, Grayth. I don’t 
lay humanity open to the anger of the 
Sam Mother, and she is just. She ap- 
preciates and aids those who aid her. 

“Your futile air guns have merely 
tempted your men into a closing trap. 
You, who have never seen a book on 
military strategy, never practiced war- 
fare, hoping to defeat one tutored by the 
generals of the Sam ! You may be wise 
enough in working the minds of cattle 
such as these in my burning pens — but 
for practical matters your knowledge is 
nothing. 

“Well, what do you say, Grayth? I’ll 
release these men, these dumb followers 
of a stupid leader — ^but the leaders must 
face the Mother.” 



GRAYTH shook his head. “We are 
not caught. We are quicksilver under 
your fingers, escaping as you try to hold 
us. Bartel you want for personal rea- 
sons, personal hatred, as you want me. 
I will surrender to you if you will swear 
by the name of the Mother, by Kathal 
Sargthan herself, that my people, in- 
cluding all others save only myself and 
Bartel, shall be free and undisturbed. 
Bartel, I except with his consent — and 
catch him if you may! You claim your 
ring tight ” 

Drunnel stared at the tall figure of 
his enemy. Quicksilver under his 
fingers, to slip through the teeth of his 

closing trap. Bartel 

“Let Bartel join you, then,” he called 
carelessly. “The sheep will fall apart 
in squabbles when the goats are gone.” 
“You swear by the name of the 
Mother, by Kathal Sargthan, that those 
who have fought for me shall be free 
and unmolested, on equal grounds with 
those who have fought with you and 
with those who have not fought?” 

“By Kathal Sargthan, I swear that.” 
Drunnel nodded. 

“By Kathal Sargthan you swear that 
we shall have trial before the Mother, 
as the law of the Sam demands ?” 
Dmnnel laughed, eyes flashing in the 
light of the flames. “Aye — if you want 
that so badly, Grayth, you and Bartel 
shall surrender to me, and together you 
shall appear before the Mother. And by 
the Mother’s name. I’ll have you there 
at the morning audience, too I” 

Bartel’s figure merged from the dark 
entranceway of a building, striding for- 
ward to join Grayth. Grayth snapped 
off the tiny stud of his crown as Dmnnel 
came forward, took it from his head and 
restored the silver-and-enamel disk of 
the Mother’s slaves. Drunnel took it 
from his hands, eyes bright, white teeth 
flashing in an almost friendly smile of 
triumph. The game was played out; 
Grayth and Bartel were no longer ob- 
stacles in his path to power. 



OUT OP NIGHT 



35 



VI. 

THE SARN stood in solidly massed 
ranks leading up to the high, golden 
throne of the Sarn Mother. The great 
hall of audience was quiet, a hush so 
deep the faint rustle of the atom-flame 
projectors far above in the lofty dome 
trickled down to them like the rustle of 
autumn’s falling leaves. 

Grayth and Bartel stood side by side 
before the Mother, their official crimson 
cloaks stripped from them, draped in- 
stead over the tall forms of Drunnel 
and Rendan standing close behind. A 
long, slanting ray of morning sunlight 
stabbed through a window to wash on 
the crimson cloth, rebounding in red- 
dening glare. 

For long minutes the motionless, 
slitted eyes of the Mother looked into 
Grayth’s calm face. Her line-thin mouth 
seemed scarcely to move as she spoke. 
“You told us that the law of the Sarn 
could not be enforced, and that you were 
unable to enforce it. Therefore, Grayth, 
it was my desire that you be removed. 

“By the law of the Sarn, the ineffi- 
cient administrator is worthy of removal, 
and the rebellious administrator is 
worthy of death. 

“By the common law of the humans, 
the inefficient are removed, and the trea- 
sonous are worthy of death. 

“By the taw of the Sarn and the law 
of man, you have earned no appeal to 
me. Why then do you protest your an- 
cient privilege of appeal to the Mother 
of laws and justice?” 

“By the law of Sarn and human, the 
inefficient should be removed and the 
rebellious or treasonous destroyed,” 
Grayth acknowledges. His voice was 
low and clear, its tones dying slowly in 
the vast hall. “If these things are proved 
against me, I am guilty. But no man has 
accused me of inefficiency, for I am not 
inefficient in failing to do that which the 
law forbids me to do. The law of the 
Sarn forbids that the spokesman of man 



be also the commander of the legion, or 
that he raise a police power for his office. 
The law of the humans forbids the 
spokesman of man doing other than of- 
fer advice. I have given the Mother 
advice, as the laws require; the laws 
of the Sarn cannot be forced onto hu- 
manity without destruction. You or- 
dered that I enforce them, yet the law 
of Sarn and of man forbids my raising 
the power I must have to do this. Had I 
done so, I would have rebelled against 
the law of the Sam and been traitorous 
to human law. I did not do so ; therein 
I am not traitorous, nor am I ineffi- 
cient.” 

“The word of the Mother is the law 
of the Sarn.” The Sam Mother’s mask- 
ing, translucent lids slid across her eyes 
for a moment. “There is no law above 
it. The decisions of the Mother are the 
law of the Earth ; there is no law above 
them. You have acted inefficiently, or 
rebelliously. I find your actions re- 
bellious. The law defines the manner of 
your death. 

“So, also, I find Bartel rebellious. The 
law defines the manner of your death.” 
The unwinking eyes swung slowly to 
Bartel and held him tor's moment. Then, 
suddenly, they moved from his face, to 
look down the long hall of audiences to 
the great entranceway. The expression- 
less face remained unchanged, the line- 
thin slit of her lips did not move. But 
in the silence the breath whistled softly 
into her nostrils. Grayth turned slowly 
to follow the unmoving stare of the Sarn 
Mother. 

IN THE bright radiance of the atom 
flames, across lancing beams of early 
sunlight, a vague, amorphous thing 
moved, a thing of utter blackness. Shift- 
ing suggestions of blocky, heavy legs 
moved it forward. Slowly, in the sun- 
light and the radiance of the projectors, 
it seemed to solidify, condensing upon 
itself. A gigantic, manlike figure loom- 
ing twelve feet — a figure not in black, but 



36 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



oj blackness, a sheer absence of all vi- 
sion, a solid shadow of utter night. 

As it moved closer in ponderous, 
soundless strides, the condensation and 
solidification went on, more clearly the 
arms, the great legs became visible. A 
great, featureless head of jet surmounted 
the heroic figure, a face, of eyeless, 
mouthless, noseless blackness, swirling, 
moving unsteadily. 

And behind it on the great floor, 
where the formless feet touched, white 
sprang out, white flowers of frost. 
Slowly, the figure moved forward, an 
aura of cold, a faint, whispering wind 
from unguessed, icy spaces drawing 
about it, behind it. A stabbing beam of 
brilliant sunlight struck down from a 
high window, lanced into it like a great 
shaft — and vanished. It did not il- 
luminate nor reflect from that figure of 
blackness. 

“Aesir ” Grayth gasped the name, 

falling back a step. 

Thirty feet from the Mother the fig- 
ure halted, the mighty arms at rest by 
its sides. The paralyzed Sarn began to 
stir, a voice broke out in hissing sylla- 
bles — and quieted. The blackness spoke, 
spoke not in words, but in thoughts, 
thoughts that danced and lanced through 
every mind, human and Sarn alike. 

“TTiere is neither justice nor right in 
your ruling, daughter of the Sarn. Your 
race and the race of my people are dif- 
ferent. You must change that ruling, in 
the name of the justice you invoke.” 

The Sarn Mother’s hand moved like 
a flashing serpent’s tongue to a tiny stud 
set in her throne. A pencil of ravening, 
intolerable fury burst from the carven 
mouth of the crouching metal beast at 
her side, a pencil of inconceivable en- 
ergies that reft the air in its path in 
screaming, shattered atoms — and died 
soundless, lightless on the breast of the 
lord of blackness. From her massed 
guards a thousand tongues of death 
shrieked out, ravening rods of annihila- 
tion — ^that died unseen in his blackness. 



From the plaque above the throne of the 
Sarn Mother a roaring column of the 
atomic blast, a force designed to wash 
down mountains, vomited forth, drown- 
ing in colossal thunders the pricking 
bubbles of the lesser rays. No spark 
of light, no faintest sight of illumination 
speared on the motionless giant. 

THE shouting voice of tlie rays died 
out, stopped, and their echoes wan- 
dered lonely in the vast silence of the 
hall. The blackness spoke again, in a 
soundless voice that seemed to echo like 
a vast organ’s song, yet lacked all quality 
of sound. 

‘T am not matter, nor of forces such 
as your beams, your rays can touch, 
daughter of the Sarn. Your wisdom, 
the ancient powers of your race are use- 
less. You are still but one; I am all 
of mankind that has ever been, the fif- 
teen hundred billions who have died 
since the first man. I am the billions 
you slaughtered at the Conquest. Ten 
thousand generations of mankind have 
willed, dreamed and struggled for suc- 
cess and freedom. I am the crystalliza- 
tion of those wills, those dreams. I am 
mankind, an incarnate ideal half formed. 
No force, no ray, no thing of matter can 
influence my being. 

‘‘All space was saturated with the 
deathless energies of forgotten strivers, 
the eternal wills of all man’s myriads 
since the lost beginning of time. In 
glacial epoch I died under rending tiger’s 
claws, yet lived in the child protected 
by that sacrifice. I died while the world 
was young — and I died last night under 
the rays you gave these men, and with 
the leaden shot of the air guns in me. 

‘‘I am the wills of mankind, raised into 
substance by your own acts, daughter of 
the Sarn. Three billions died at the 
Conquest, and their wills released to 
eternal space carried one single thought : 
to save Earth from your slavery. They 
were the crystallizing point, on that heart 
and nucleus the space-ranging wills of 



OUT OF NIGHT 



37 



unremembered generations have united 
into me. Four thousand years have 
passed, and slowly I have grown, till my 
powers made contact with Earth’s space 
and time last night, when once again 
wills and minds went from Earth in 
striving for freedom. 

“I am Aesir, the pantheon of man- 
kind, and mankind itself. All that ever 
died, under blazing desert sun or in 
freezing arctic waste, when the first dim 
stirrings of mind arose and struggled 
with a tool, and through all time to the 
will that became of me while I spoke 
here — the will of one wounded last night 
and dying this morning. 

“For whatever cause they strove and 
died, they are of me, daughter of the 
Sarn. Mankind must have justice, for 
each of those who died sought in his own 
way for what his mind believed was 
truth. Grayth and Bartel have striven 
that justice might be, and they shall go 
on with their works. 

“Drunnel and Rendan have sought to 
sell mankind for their own ends. They, 
too, shall have justice.’’ 

The vast blackness of his arm reached 
out and a formless finger of jet touched 
once on Drunnel’s forehead for a frac- 
tion of a second, before it passed to 
Rendan’s terror-frozen countenance. 
Slowly, Drunnel swayed, his legs loos- 
ened and he fell to the floor as a soft, 
white blanket spread over his face. His 



head clicked like brittle metal on the 
black basalt of the floor. Like dropped 
ice it shivered in a dozen fragments. 
Kindly, swift-spreading, white frost crys- 
tals softened and concealed it, and the 
broken skull of Rendan. 

AESIR TURNED. Before him a 
lane opened as the Sarn stumbled back, 
making a way that lead him straight to 
the vast gold-flecked wall of the hkll of 
audiences, polished slabs of jade-green 
stone. Silently, Aesir stepped into it ; 
the solid matter misted and vanished at 
his touch, opening to the empty corridor 
beyond. For a moment it remained so, 
the vast, black figure striding soundless 
down the deserted corridor beyond the 
wall — then the wall closed in behind 
him. But it was black, black with the 
blackness of Aesir himself. 

A gpiard turned on it a stabbing beam 
that crushed the atoms of a rising col- 
umn into sparkling dust. But the black- 
ness of the wall remained, untouched, 
unlighted. The beam died, and very 
slowly, before their eyes, the blackness 
faded from the wall, evaporating in little 
curling wisps of jet fog. For a moment, 
a distorted profile remained, a vast, black 
shadow of a man thrown on green stone. 

Then only green polished stone glowed 
in the warm light of the rising sun. 

The Mother’s expressionless eyes 
looked into Grayth’s for long, silent sec- 




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38 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



ends. The Sam shifted restlessly, little 
whisperings of a rising sound. “You 
shall both go, Grayth and Bartel, and 
see that order is restored in the human 
city.” The Sarn Mother’s voice halted 
for a moment, then continued, “At the 
hour of sunset of this day all the weap- 
ons and crowns I allowed to leave my 
arsenal will be returned to me. 

“The law of the one and the five shall 
not apply to humans.” 

The Mother’s eyes closed. Grayth 
and Bartel turned and walked silently 
down the long aisle between ranks of 
silent Sam. Behind them followed the 
six, silent men who had come that morn- 
ing with Drunnel and Rendan. Outside 
the great entranceway, the six went 
hastily away across the green lawn. For 
a moment Grayth and Bartel stood alone. 



AN electrotechnician, a man so com- 
monly seen working about the Sarn city 
that few noticed him, joined them there. 
In one hand he carried a large, snap- 
locked bag, a somewhat large kit, con- 
taining, no doubt, the tools, the instru- 
ments and delicate bits of apparatus of 
his trade. In the other hand he carried 
a pair of stiltlike things of light metal 
tubing, things that ended with a curious 
webbing that resembled broad, splayed 
feet. 

“I had the luck of the gods,” said 
Ware softly. “It was perfectly impos- 
sible to complete the thing in the time 
that ” 

“Yes,” said Grayth with a chuckle that 
was half a sigh, “we had the luck of the 
gods, too.” 






DON'T MISS THE POWERFUL NEW NOVEL 

By Arthur J. Burks 

COMING IN THE NOVEMBER ISSUE OF 
ASTOUNDING: 

The Golden 
Horseshoe 



A SCIENCE STORY OF THE PHENOMENA 
IN NATIONAL STONE PARK 



MR. ELLERBEE 
TRANSPLANTED 




R. ELLERBEE detested ex- 
positions — ever since the day 
he had met his wife at one, 
thirty-two interminable years ago. 

Mr. Ellerbee, in fact, hated exposi- 
tions, and this particular one above all 
others, There were blaring radios. 



hideously cacophonous, and seething 
crowds, milling and heaving, hot and 
sweating, and the nauseating smell of 
roasted popcorn, outdone in beastliness 
only by the unutterable stench of siz- 
zling hamburgers and hot dogs. 

Already he had walked the best part 





40 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



of six miles along the siin-scorched as- 
phalt, praising this, condemning that, 
admiring such-and-such, and criticizing 
so-and-so. And even though, after only 
two years of married life, Mr. Ellerbee 
had found a way to simulate an interest 
in the varied goings on around him, 
to the satisfaction of his wife, he was 
becoming quite fed up and weary with 
the day. 

Not only was he tired, not only was it 
hot, not only did his feet ache, but he 
thought that he was ill, and angry, too. 
Perhaps the last batch of hateful roller- 
coaster rides, accompanying his flushed 
and shrilly screaming wife — she had a 
passion for roller coasters — had indeed 
upset his stomach. Or perhaps it had 
been the stifling heat at the dress parade 
his wife had made him sit through, 
possibly pleasant enough if he had been 
nearer to the models. Or perh«^s he 
-was irked at his wife’s attitude toward 
his suggestion that they go and visit 
Mile. Sonia, who danced sensationally 
in the midway. 

But now there was respite. For a 
brief and all too fleeting moment his 
wife was nonexistent, having retired to 
fix a shoe buckle which had given way 
under her enthusiastic promenading. 
Mr. Ellerbee stood ruminating, holding 
his hat in his hand and wiping the sweat 
from his nearly bald head with a large 
crimson handkerchief. And now, sud- 
denly, his mind was made up. Very 
well, then, he would go and see this 
Mile. Sonia. And he sincerely hoped 
this dereliction would goad his wife. 
Frightened by this last thought he hur- 
riedly put his hat back on his head 
and ducked into the crowd. 

As he headed in the general direction 
of the midway, his spirit slowly ebbed. 
True, there was the midway, with its 
glamour, the raucous voices of its bark- 
ers, and the shrill confusion of its music ; 
but afterward there would be questions, 
cross-examinations, there would be 



anger and recriminations, and, above 
all, his tearful wife in agonies of mar- 
tyrdom and deep self-pity. Better to 
return, better to put temptation far 
away. But already in his mind’s eye he 
could see her sweeping out of the rest 
room, looking for him, and finding not 
a trace of him ; he could see her mOuth 
harden into the familiar thin line, and 
the cold, glittering look come into her 
eyes; and he knew it was much too 
late to retrace his steps. In for a penny, 
in for a pound, thought Mr. Ellerbee, 
furtively advancing in the direction of 
Mile. Sonia. 

But when he got to where she danced, 
the very blatancy of the posters, the 
crudity of the barker — ^he was a plain 
man, who achieved a great deal of pleas- 
ure in calling a spade a spade — and the 
amused looks of the other men, cluster- 
ing excitedly around, only tended to un- 
nerve him. His throat was dry and 
the blood was racing in his ears. He 
could hear his heart doing the most pe- 
culiar things. These things, thought 
Mr. Ellerbee, must be taken slowly. He 
stood for a while, looking slyly at the 
posters — were women ever built like 
that ? — and listening to the barker’s spiel, 
a delicious sense of guilt making him 
tremble and sweat even more profusely 
than before. But his nerve failed him 
and he walked away. In a few moments 
he would be back. And then 

SUDDENLY, his eye was taken with 
the gayly painted sign that hung above 
a doorvi'ay in a hoarding, and the quaint 
dress of the person at the entrance. 
“City of the Future” the sign read, and 
the man was dressed in a sort of tunic, 
painted to resemble metal. Over the 
top of the hoarding Mr. Ellerbee could 
get a tantalizing glimpse of chromium 
turrets and copper cupolas, glinting in 
the sun. After all, thought Mr. Eller- 
bee, it might even be instructive. And 
it was really very innocent. There 
would be plenty of time later for Mile. 



MR. ELLERBEE TRANSPLANTED 



41 



Sonia. So he paid, his quarter and in 
he went. 

The City of the Future occupied 
about an acre of the grounds, and was 
thought to be the star turn in all the 
exposition. Not only had newspapers 
the world over duly reported all its won- 
ders to an avid and gaping public, but 
the news reels had shown its quaintly 
gleaming artificiality on every screen as 
well. It had been televised, a fitting 
subject for the opening of the new 
television service recently inaugurated. 
Furthermore, it had even been utilized 
to point the moral in a speech on uplift, 
given by a great dictator. 

On entering, Mr. Ellerbee was fasci- 
nated with the view. A long street 
stretched down the whole length of the 
city, passing on its way through a great 
square, from the center of which there 
rose an enormous glass and copper 
tower, the Power Tower, easily recog- 
nizable by Mr. Ellerbee from the cinema 
the week before. On each side of the 
street the terraced houses were massed, 
some gleaming white, some glass, crys- 
tal-clear, and tinted with a multitude of 
colors, great balustrades of chromium 
and sheets of polished copper. Here 
there were brilliant flowers, red and 
flame, all of metal foil and glass, and 
great palms, a wonderful eruption of 
jagged aluminium. There ran the 
smoothly rubbered surface of the street, 
with the small, gayly painted, metal cars 
gliding over its surface, silently and fast. 

Mr. Ellerbee did the city thoroughly. 
He saw the latest houses, with their 
strange fabrics and mysterious lighting, 
pale soft glows that sprang from no- 
where, their labor-saving luxuries, all 
electric, fascinating and desirable. He 
noted with delight the clean lines of the 
decorations, the pastel shades of the 
walls, and even the smooth curves of 
the scantily dressed girl, who showed 
him round. 

He saw the landing roofs on top of 
the buildings, wondered at the softly 



humming gyroplanes that stood as if in 
readiness for flight, and marveled at the 
“Mars Express,” a triumph of the scene- 
designer’s art, with all its futuristic 
gadgets, its stellar map and trim offi- 
cers. 

He visited the television theater — 
only, however, seeing a recent news reel, 
and indistinctly too — and thence on to 
the Palace of Arts — really quite as good, 
if not better than. Mile. Sonia — thence 
in a rocketing lift to the dizzy heights 
of the lofty Power Tower, where the 
great generators were pouring out their 
power for all the city. Here, too, were 
actual radio and television broadcasting 
stations, operating on the yellow net- 
work. Recklessly, Mr. Ellerbee spent 
a dollar to be present at a broadcast, 
thinking of his voice and sallow counte- 
nance leaping out through all of space. 

AFTER THIS, he wandered into a 
room, not noticing it was marked “Pri- 
vate,” and was delighted with the futur- 
istic effect of the furniture there. It 
seemed to be a kind of office, with pe- 
culiar metal chairs, a chromium-topped 
desk that slanted like an architect’s 
board, and copper pictures on the wall. 
He gingerly opened a door on the far 
side of the room, hoping to see further 
marvels, but was vaguely disappointed. 

The second room contained only a 
collection of machinery, oddly incased 
to carry out the general bizarre effect, 
and Mr. Ellerbee strolled to an open 
window. At least the view from this 
height would be interesting. Giddily, 
he gazed down upon the city, bright 
from sunshine flashing from roofs and 
domes. 

He was captivated. 

Conscious only of the strange beauty 
of the place, and the low throbbing of 
the power generators, he forgot the min- 
utes. Even the sun, hotter now than 
ever, seemed dim and not unpleasant. 
Swiftly, his mind flowed here and there, 
now caught by the glinting copper and 



42 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



chromium, now by the tremendous height 
of the tower, now swayed by the ban- 
ners in the streets below, lulled by the 
all-pervading hum into a strange aware- 
ness of the city. Gone were the crowds, 
gone were his worries, gone, gone, 
gone 

Suddenly, Mr. Ellerbee felt strangely 
chill. Startled, he remembered that 
Louisa was waiting for him. He rushed 
into the other room and then out into 
the vast public hall again. The hall was 
deserted, save for the metal-clothed at- 
tendant at the elevator. With approach- 
ing panic, Mr. Ellerbee wondered what 
on earth had hapf>ened. Maybe it was 
very late, the exposition closed. 

He hurried over to the elevator. The 
attendant eyed him most peculiarly, he 
thought, but then saluted sharply. He 
entered and they fell like a plummet. 
When he emerged the attendants on the 
entrance all came to attention and saluted 
him. Mr. Ellerbee was touched by this 
attention, and the good organization of 
the place, knowing from long experi- 
ence with expositions that this was often 
sadly lacking. 

Fled were all thoughts of Mile Sonia. 
The panic he had received upon the 
tower had cooled his erstwhile ardor. 
Now the best thing to do was to get 
back to the hotel as soon as possible 
and explain the whole escapade to his 
wife. So, grasping his hat firmly, he 
started down the main street at a trot. 
After a while he became conscious of 
the stares of people as he ran. But then 
he noticed that, after all, they were only 
attendants, dressed as they were in their 
queer metallic tunics. 

Then other things began to worry 
him. First, he noticed that all the other 
visitors had gone; he alone of all the 
crowd was the only person rightly 
dressed, the only visitor in all the show. 
Then he heard a humming sound, and 
nearly stumbled when he saw one of 
the squat, fantastic-looking gyroplanes, 
sailing a few hundred feet overhead. 



There was something very strange about 
it all, thought Mr. Ellerbee, hurrying to- 
ward the exit as fast as his legs could 
carry him. 

IT SEEMED a long way, longer 
than he imagined. Even after ten min- 
utes the exit was not reached. The 
place, too, was unfamiliar. Surely over 
there was another tower, and there 
wide avenues stretching out as far as 
the eye could see. Panic and fear were 
mounting rapidly in Mr. Ellerbee. 
Something most unusual was occurring, 
and he remembered how he had felt one 
night when, as a small child, he had lost 
his way at the bottom of his bed, and 
had been unable to find his way out 
until his mother had come running on 
the scene, attracted by his screams. Al- 
though in such a small place it was 
undeniably stupid, he must have lost 
his way, he thought. 

He approached a tall attendant : 
“Please,” said Mr. Ellerbee, “where is 
the way out ?” 

The tall man looked him up and down, 
with rather a puzzled stare, then walked 
on without a word. Mr. Ellerbee was 
surprised at this lack of courtesy on the 
part of one of the attendants. 

He addressed another, slowly and 
clearly: “I think I’ve lost myself. Can 
you please tell me where I can find the 
exit?” The man took one look at him 
and then burst out laughing; calling to 
a companion he said something to him 
that was inaudible, and then indicated 
Mr. Ellerbee’s spectacles. Then both of 
them held their sides and went into 
paroxysms of laughter. Mr. Ellerbee 
was furious. Suddenly he was over- 
whelmed by the rudeness of it all. He 
screamed at them. He leaped toward 
them, waving his arms. Immediately 
they stopped laughing ; a strange, star- 
tled look came into their eyes, and they 
turned and ran down the street. 

By this time quite a crowd of at- 



MR. ELLERBEE TRANSPLANTED 



43 



tendants had collected. All of them 
were smiling and pointing at Mr. Eller- 
bee and whispering among themselves. 
Mr. Ellerbee’s rage rose high and 
boiled over. This was too much! This 
was intolerable ! Even though the coun- 
try was going to the dogs, even though 
the forces of Bolshevism stalked the 
land, there was utterly no need for these 
attendants to behave so rudely. 

“Where,” he screamed, “is the way 
out? Exit! Will some one have the 
decency to show me the way out? I 
want to leave. Can you understand, 
you idiots? Really, this is more than 
I can stand!” 

Suddenly an older man, wearing a 
short crimson cloak thrown over the 
metallic tunic, stepped quietly forward 
and took Mr. Ellerbee by the arm. At 
last, thought Mr. Ellerbee, an inspector 
or some one; now we shall soon be out 
of here. And already in his mind he 
was visualizing just the right sort of 
stinging letter to be written for the pa- 
pers. 

Mr. Ellerbee’s guide plunged into 
quite a maze of streets. Twice Mr. 
Ellerbee could have sworn they had 
crossed the main avenue, and after about 
eight minutes of wandering around, his 
suspicions became a certainty. His 
guide was having a joke at his expense. 
Not only that, but he was decidedly un- 
easy. There was a large crowd follow- 
ing them, pointing and gesticulating. 
The whole atmosphere seemed changed, 
seemed almost sinister. 

Suddenly they came to a stop. In 
front of them stood a low, squat building, 
marble and ornately decorated. Tower- 
ing from the roof, the flaming arms of a 
gigantic neon cross cast a scarlet glow 
over everything. The guide pointed. 
Traced in brilliant blue lettering Mr. 
Ellerbee read : 

EUTHANATIKIN, 

Dainty Deaths by Painless Process, 
Deaths and Comas by Appointment. 



For a moment Mr. Ellerbee stared 
at the letters, wondering if he had sud- 
denly gone mad. The next instant he 
was furious. A joke was a joke, but this 
was carrying it too far. Somebody was 
going to pay for this. There would be 
trouble, plenty of it. The sight of his 
smiling guide made him see red. With 
a bitter yell he advanced upon the man, 
flailing his fists furiously. 

The man screamed and bolted into 
the crowd. 

His quarry lost, Mr. Ellerbee, still 
mad with rage, turned upon the crowd, 
hitting wildly. The crowd melted be- 
fore him, and almost before he was 
aware of what had happened, he found 
himself sitting on the rubber surface of 
the roadway. He caught a glimpse of 
the crowd, agitated, and hurrying away 
in all directions. Still angry, he was 
picking himself up when he saw one 
of the swift cars bearing down upon 
him. He tried to cry out. He waved 
his arms. He tried to fling himself 
clear, but it was useless. He had just 
time to see the startled face of the 
driver, and the blunt metal nose of the 
car above him. Then something hit 
him and all was blackness. 

AFTER a very long while the throb- 
bing seemed to cease. Faintly, very 
faintly, figures seemed to pass in front 
of him. Occasionally one of them 
would pause and seem to peer down at 
him. Gradually things became more 
definite. The sense of smell was com- 
ing back, bringing with it the sharp 
tang of ozone. Then sound. There 
was a continual buzzing, as though a 
bluebottle was flying round inside his 
brain. Then there were voices. Later 
he could even distinguish individual 
faces. 

After waiting for an almost infinite 
time it seemed that a brilliant, golden 
light flashed across his consciousness, 
and his senses seemed to melt and flow 
together. 



44 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Suddenly, without any effort whatso- 
ever, Mr, Ellerbce sat up. He had in- 
stantly become fully conscious. He was 
sitting upright on a species of bed that 
he recognized as an operating table, 
situated in the middle of a large room, 
full of strange humming machines and 
glowing lights. In front of him stood 
three men, identical in height, all 
clothed in purple tunics. Mr. Ellerbee 
did the first thing that came into his 
head. He leaned forward to shake 
hands. The three men shrank back, and 
one of them called out. Two others 
entered, carrying some sort of weapons, 
not unlike miniature rifles, noticed Mr. 
Ellerbee. 

“How do you do?” said Mr. Ellerbce, 
pleasantly. “I’m so sorry I gave you 
all this trouble by getting knocked down. 
I’m afraid it was all my fault, you know. 
I do hope I haven’t inconvenienced 
you.” The three men stood silent. 
“Anyhow,” went on Mr. Ellerbee, 
cheerfully, “perhaps I can go now, for 
I feel perfectly all right, except for this 
arm, which I see is bandaged. You sec, 
Tm staying at the hotel and my wife’ll 
be anxious to know what’s become of 
me.” 

The three men stood looking at him, 
^saying nothing. 

Then one of them, after much thought, 
said rather tunelessly; “Be quiet. You 
are under arrest.” 

“Upon my word,” said Mr. Eller- 
bee, “this is altogether too mucli.” His 
voice was icy-cold. “And why do I find 
myself arrested?” 

But the men remained silent. 

“Will you answer?” he stormed, wav- 
ing his forearm at them. 

The two guards leveled their weapons 
at him. 

“All right,” said Mr. Ellerbee wea- 
rily, “you might at least tell me where I 
am.” 

Then the spokesman said again. 



slowly, jerkily: “Criminal detention 

ward. Third City.” 

After that they all went out. 

THE NEXT TIME the door opened 
a new man, taller than the others, and 
bearing the stamp of authority, entered. 
He, too, was clothed in a purple tunic, 
but he carried a large silver, many- 
pointed star upon his breast. He was 
armed, carrying some small weapon 
that he fingered nervously, keeping an 
eye on Mr. Ellerbee all the time. 

“Name?” he snapped out. 

“Alan Ellerbee,” said Mr. Ellerbee, 
meekly. 

The man shook his head. "Resi- 
dence ?” 

“Jersey City.,” 

The man looked coldly at Mr. Eller- 
bee. “Really,” he said, “it would be 
much better if you didn’t play. Come, 
now, where do you live?” 

"Why,” said Mr. Ellerbee, beginning 
to get exasperated, “I’ve just this min- 
ute told you. Jersey City.” 

“Listen,” said the man. “You evi- 
dently seem bent on making difficulties. 
Who ever heard of Jersey City. You’d 
better tell that to the judge.” 

“Nonsense !” said Mr. Ellerbee, really 
stung. “Lots of people have heard of 
Jersey City, I tell you. And a very fine 
place it is, too. I live there. My father 
lived there and my grandfather before 
him. I have a wife and two children 
living in Jersey City and I’m proud to 
be a citizen. Let me tell you, this is 
going to get you all into plenty of trou- 
ble.” 

The man beckoned to the two guards 
who had been hovering near the door. 
They came forward and took hold of 
Mr. Ellerbee. The man looked at Mr. 
Ellerbee with utter loathing, with 
supreme disgust. 

“You actually had a father? And a 
grandfather ?” 



MR. ELLERBEE TRANSPLANTED 



45 



“Why, certainly,” said Mr. Ellerbee, 
puzzled. 

The man was blushing. “This is 
shocking!” he muttered. Then to the 
guards: “Take the fellow away!” 

The two guards led Mr. Ellerbee 
along many corridors, many of them 
beautiful, all filled with a soft radiance. 
They led him up long, inclined ramps, 
through vast halls, round a bewildering 
array of corners. Finally, they ap- 
proached a massive, ten-foot door that 
swung open, revealing an enormous hall, 
larger than any of the ones they had 
passed through, and packed with peo- 
ple, disappearing into the dim distance. 

Mr. Ellerbee was ushered into a small 
stand. A man placed a midget micro- 
phone to the lapel of his coat. An- 
other man fixed a coil of wire around 
his wrist. Everything was smooth, 
without a hitch. Everything was ready 
almost before he could comprehend that 
he was in court. Above him he could 
see a platform and three seated men, 
clothed in flowing golden robes. Then 
a bright beam of light was flashed into 
his eyes and he was temporarily blinded. 

A TREMENDOUS VOICE ad- 
dressed him, apparently from a loud- 
speaker: “Name?” 

“A. Ellerbee. Alan Ellerbee,” he re- 
plied, and ducked as he heard his voice 
go echoing round the hall from the 
giant loud-speakers. 

“Residence ?” 

“The President Apartments, on Fifty- 
second Street, Jersey City, State of 
New Jersey, U. S. A.,” said Mr. Eller- 
tce, very loudly, very blandly. 

He could hear the titters that went up. 

The stony voice of his interrogator 
went on: “This is no time for joking, 
Ellerbee. Where are you registered, 
what is your rank, and what is your 
number?” 

“Look,” said Mr. Ellerbee, patiently, 
“I am not, I suppose, in a position to 
argue with you, whoever you are, but 



I have no number. I have no rank. I 
am plain Mr. Ellerbee and I own a 
garage in Jersey City.” 

“The man must be mad!” said one 
of the judges in a loud stage whisper. 

“Very well,” said the first interroga- 
tor, “we’ll drop the matter for the mo- 
ment.” 

“Listen!” said Mr. Ellerbee. 

But some one at his side said : 
" Shush r 

“Read the charges,” thundered the 
judge. 

A voice rolled out over the crowd. 

Mr. Ellerbee listened, amazed. He 
learned that he had criminally assaulted 
a guide. Rank 4, No. 22855, of Third 
City ; that he had further criminally as- 
saulted a mixed crowd of citizens of 
Third City, injuring and maiming at 
least five; that he had intentionally and 
feloniously attempted to cause to be 
wrecked a general transport car; that 
he had failed to comply with Regulations 
2, 3, 4, 5, 7 and 10 of the Dress Com- 
mittee; that he was a vagrant; that his 
manner and deportment was subversive 
to the State; that he was a spy, and a 
dangerous one at that, being deeply 
atavistic. 

“A very terrible fellow indeed !” inter- 
posed one of the judges. 

“Finally,” went on the prosecutor, 
“the prisoner is charged with criminal 
indecency.” 

There was a shocked silence. 

Then the voice of the judge boomed 
out: “Have you anything to say. Pris- 
oner Ellerbee?” 

“Plenty!” shouted Mr. Ellerbee. 

“One moment!” hastily interrupted 
the judge. “The exact details of the 
last charge have just been conveyed to 
me. Owing to the sordid filth” — here 
he glared at Mr. Ellerbee — “of these 
unsavory details, I regret that I shall be 
obliged to clear the court.” 

After a while the hubbub subsided 
and there was comparative quiet once 
more. 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



'46 

, Then the judge said, speaking in a 
voice of thunder to Mr. EUerbee; “Let 
us deal with the charges, one by one. 
,You are accused firstly with a criminal 
assault upon one of the city guides. Is 
there anything that you can put for- 
ward in your defense? Is there any 
mitigating circumstance for such a das- 
tardly attack ?” 

I Mr. EUerbee was utterly abashed. 
“Your honor ” he began. 

^ “What!” shouted the judge angrily. 
*‘I am not your honor. I am nothing 
whatsoever to do with you. I am a 
judge.” 

"VERY WELL,” said Mr. EUerbee 
wearily. “Let me explain. I went to 
the exposition with my wife, Louisa 
EUerbee. It was very hot and while she 
left me for a moment I decided to visit 
certain of the exhibits, notably one called 
the City of the Future. When I was 
on top of the Power Tower I believe I 
must have stayed longer than I was 
aware, for I found, on coming out of 
my brown study, that all the other 
visitors had departed. So I decided to 
return home to my hotel, but lost my 
way. I asked one of the attendants to 
show me the way, but he played a joke 
on me and brought me to place called 
the Euthanatikon. 

“Naturally, I was very incensed and 
tried to hit the man, but he ran away. 
I’ll admit I lost my temper and tried to 
vent my fury on the crowd ; but all that 
happened was that I got run over by a 
taxi. The next thing I knew was that 
I found myself in some sort of a hos- 
pital under arrest, and here I am ” 

He paused expectantly. 

There followed a lengthy conference 
among the three judges. 

Finally, the spokesman arose and ad- 
dressed Mr. EUerbee: “Before we are 
able to make any statement regarding 
your extraordinary declaration, there 
are certain terms, certain words that 
you have no doubt imwittingly used, the 



meaning of which we fail to grasp. To 
wit: Exposition. What is an exposi- 
tion ?” 

Mr, EUerbee gasped in amazement. 
Even judges should know a simple 
thing like that. “Why,” said Mr. EUer- 
bee, temporarily at a loss, “an exposition 
is a sort of fair — a place where all the 
latest progress in art and science is ex- 
hibited — a place where — where they 
have fan dancers and roller coasters 
and hot dogs and exhibits like this City 
of the Future that I’m telling you about. 
People pay to visit. Do you under- 
stand ?” 

“Not one word,” said the judge. 
“You are obviously mad. However, 
there are other points we would like 
clear. You mentioned, I think, the 
term wife. What, exactly is your wife ?” 

Here one of the other judges inter- 
rupted: “I think I’m right in believ- 
ing it to be a most archaic term for a 
woman who cohabits with a man.” 

“Ah! I see,” said the first judge. 
Then to Mr. EUerbee: “Did you only 
have one woman ?” 

“Naturally,” responded Mr. EUerbee, 
shocked. 

“Most unnaturally, I should have 
thought,” said the judge acidly. “How- 
ever, let us proceed. You mention 
that you found yourself on the Power 
Tower, a charge, a very serious charge, 
that, I hasten to point out, the prose- 
cutor has apparently overlooked. That 
alone is sufficient reason for your con- 
demnation. Are you not aware that 
the Power Tower is forbidden ground? 
Were you never taught, I might ask, 
were it not so ridiculous, that it w^s 
forbidden to ascend the Tower?” 

“No,” said Mr. EUerbee sullenly. He 
was getting to the end of his tether. 

“Then where have you been edu- 
cated?” roared the judge. 

“Columbia, New York City.” 

“That is enough. You are utterly 
mad. New York, indeed! And where, 
might I ask, is that?” 



MR. ELLERBEE TRANSPLANTED 



47 



“Listen," said Mr. Ellerbee quietly. 
“Maybe I am mad. I^m beginning to 
think so myself. Maybe there is no 
New York, but a few hours ago New 
York was the biggest city in the world. 
New York is over the Hudson from 
Jersey City. In New York there is a 
large university catted Columbia. I was 
educated there. I got a degree there. 
I know nothing about your Power 
Tower. I live in Jersey City. My 
children live there, too. And my fa- 
ther lived there before me; so did my 
grandfather ■” 

“What!" cried the judges. “Your 
children! Your father! Your grand- 
father ! Oh ! This is too shameful, 
too degrading!" 

“I had no idea whatsoever,” said the 
first judge, “that the case was quite as 
sordid as it is. However, we must 
proceed. Why did you assault the 
guide, who was dutifully showing you 
the way out?" 

“But that’s where all the trouble 
started,” sobbed Mr. Ellerbee. “He 
didn’t show me the way out. He 
showed me a silly joke called Eutha- 
natikon. Deaths and comas by appoint- 
ment or some such silly thing.” 

“Well,” said the judge, in the tone of 
one humoring a small child, “isn’t that 
the way out?” 

FOR the first time in his life Mr. 
Ellerbee was absolutely and completely 
dumfounded, utterly without a reply. 

“As for your attempted wreck of the 
transport,” continued the judge, “that 
is relatively unimportant; so, also, the 
charge relating to your extraordinary 
costume ; so, too, the charge of va- 
grancy, since these appear to be con- 
comitant to a person bereft of his senses 
such as you appear to me. 

“But there follow more serious 
charges. Subversiveness and espionage. 
You have admitted before the court, is 
it not so, that you visited the top of the 
Power Tower ? And that peculiar struc- 



ture that you persist in wearing in front 
of your eyes is, I presume,^ some subtle 
machine for the furtherment of your 
espionage, that no doubt sooner or later 
will reveal its secret to us. Is this not 
a fact ?” 

“No," said Mr. Ellerbee stubbornly. 
“They are ordinary glasses. I’m not 
able to see very well without them.” 

“Rubbish!” said the judge. “Every- 
body can see perfectly welL Hand them 
to me. It is a well-known fact that 
many of these apparently simple, shall 
I say, appliances are, in reality, articles 
of ^bolical ingenuity,” said the judge 
sententiously. 

Mr. Ellerbee surrendered his glasses 
with a gesture of complete bafflement. 

“And now,” began the judge omi- 
nously, “we come to the most heinous 
of the charges — Atavism" — here he 
paused to let the enormity of the charge 
sink in — “and criminal indecency. Let 
us deal with atavism first. There can 
be no excuse, however mitigating, for 
the crime of atavism. We, nowadays, 
are no longer subject to the vices and 
ills our ancestors were pregnant with. 
Due — and though I have said it before, 
I shall repeat it — ^to the brilliance of 
our modern science of embryology and 
conditioned birth we are no longer 
slaves to the baser instincts that used 
to haunt the soul of man. Temper, and 
violence, brute passions such as these, 
are degrading in their bestiality. With- 
out the slightest shadow of a doubt these 
traits have risen in your soul, bearing 
fruit in evil fashion. You are no longer 
worthy of the name of man!” 

Mr. Ellerbee felt very small indeed. 

“And now,” intoned the judge, “we 
proceed to the charge of criminal in- 
dency.” His voice was cosmic. “'The 
first, if I may- say so, for eighteen hun- 
dred years. You are understood to have 
admitted, though on such a serious 
charge as this we cannot be too sure, 
that there was a man whom you called 
your grandfather. This man, I believe. 



48 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



had relations with a woman in such a 
way that an offspring was produced. 
This, I believe, is so, although I am not 
fully conversant with the term grand- 
father.” 

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Ellerbee. 

"This offspring — called, so I am in- 
formed, a son — ^then repeated the proc- 
ess and in due course created you! Is 
that not so?” 

"Well, I imagine so,” said Mr. Eller- 
bee. 

"FURTHER, I take it that you have 
the audacity, the subversiveness, the 
criminality, the beastiality to cause a 
woman to bear what you call your chil- 
dren ?” 

"Certainly,” said Mr. Ellerbee. 

"Do you mean to tell me,” went on 
the judge, “that these offspring were 
produced without the consent of the 
State, were produced other than in the 
State reproduction centers, that you 
actually committed the crime of having 
children by your own woman?” 

“What else could I have done, then?” 
queried Mr. Ellerbee. 

"Oh !” said the third judge. “This is 
terrible.” 

“Send him away,” said the second 
judge. "I can hardly bear to hear more 
of this filthy and degrading confession.” 

“Very well,” said the first judge, who 
was more hardened to cases -of that 
sort. “The court finds you guilty on 
all of the charges, but especially guilty 
of possessing a nature so evil, so obdu- 
rate, so utterly worthless and atavistic 
that it is no longer possible for you to 
be classed as a member of the human 
race. Tlierefore, the sentence, mitigated 
to a slight degree, owing to the fact that 
you are insane — due, no doubt, partly 
to the haphazard and terrible method of 
your procreation — is that you be allotted 
to the First College of Science for what- 
soever experimental purposes shall be 
thought fit. It is spoken.” Then to the 
guards : “Take him away !” 



So much had happened to Mr. Eller- 
bee during the last forty-eight hours that 
he was numb. Nothing mattered any 
more, neither the pain nor the fear. 
Even his memory was slowly fading 
from his consciousness. He barely re- 
membered being dragged out of the 
courtroom, the terrifying journey in the 
rocket plane, halfway round the earth 
it seemed, the cold wastes that sur- 
rounded the tall towers of the First 
City, the grim buildings of the First 
College of Science, the humiliating tests, 
the countless pricks of hjqjoderniics, the 
strange rays that made him reel and 
faint. Even the incredible sight of see- 
ing all his entrails spread out along a 
table was fading into the growing haze 
of his subconscious. 

Now there was gradually enveloping 
oblivion. Somewhere a machine purred, 
and the angry crackle of sparks could 
be heard, cutting across all other noises. 
There was a faint, sickly smell ; it might 
have been anything : warm blood, chloro- 
form, burning rubber. Somewhere a 
light kept flashing. All that he was 
aware of was that a very important ex- 
periment was being performed upon his 
body, since when he had been led into 
the operating theater the vast size of the 
crowd in the gallery, the complexity of 
the gleaming tubes and coils and strange 
machinery, and the silent bustle of the 
masked figures had all denoted a major 
event. 

Suddenly, the note of the machine 
changed and rose to a shrill whine. A 
great light shone in his eyes and he had 
a momentary glimpse, as though from 
a great height, of the packed operating 
theater, and masked figures reeling away 
from the operating table, which was 
empty now, and glowing in a strange 
fashion. Then darkness obliterated 
everything. 

LATER, after much time, he opened 
his eyes. Or rather he suddenly found 
himself lying on his back in a plowed 



MR. ELLERBEE TRANSPLANTED 



49 



field. Carefully, he felt himself to see 
if any part of him was missing, to see 
if any bones were broken. But, except 
for being bruised and aching intolerably, 
and having his right arm in a bandage, 
all seemed well. He got up and slowly 
looked about him. He reeled and al- 
most fell, and his head throbbed vio- 
lently. After a while he felt better. 
He tried to walk a few steps, but had 
to sit down, feeling violently sick. 

Suddenly his mind seemed to clear. 
He stood up. There in the distance was 
the haze and smoke of a big city, there 
were its skyscrapers, and there, thought 
Mr. Ellerbee, were the towers and flags 
of the exposition. Gradually, his mem- 
ory returned ; the exposition, the tower, 
the awful city of the future, the court, 
the terrible experiments. Tremblingly, 
he started walking toward the road, 
where a steady stream of cars went 
flashing by. 

In the lobby of the hotel Mr. Eller- 
bec bought a paper, hoping this bit of 
routine would steady his nerves. But 
the way the clerk stared only increased 
his misery, and as he crept toward the 
elevators he felt a hundred eyes taking 
in his bedraggled appearance, his torn 
clothes, dirty from the field and 
splotched witli blood, and his growth 
of beard. 

In the elevator he was acutely con- 
scious of the operator's scorn, and held 
up the paper, pretending to read it but 



interested merely in hiding his face. 
After a moment he really did begin 
reading, for a certain heading had cap- 
tured his gaze: 

“SCIENTIST” HELD AFTER TAM- 
PERING WITH EXPOSITION 
MACHINERY 

Mr. Ellerbee gulped in the words that 
followed. His eyes bulged, perspiration 
leaped to his forehead; his heart did 
funny things. Then a strange, par- 
alyzing calm settled over him. By the 
time the car came to a stop at his floor, 
the thirtieth, all his fears were gone, and 
in their place rested an awe that he 
dared not yet analyze. 

Reluctantly, he knocked at the door of 
his suite. What would Louisa say? 
Would she believe him? 

OUT came Mrs. Ellerbee, all smiles. 
For a moment she continued to smile a 
sort of questioning semiwelcome. Then 
she looked puzzled. Then her face 
froze. 

“Why, Mr. Ellerbee ” she began. 

“Yes, dear,” said Mr. Ellerbee, rather 
weakly, “I’m back.” 

“And so I should think!” his wife 
replied. “And where have you been 
all this time, I should like to know. 
Drinking, I suppose. Oh, you wretch! 
You good-for-nothing bully, you, you 
wretch 1” 

“Listen,” said Mr. Ellerbee, “I want 





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50 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



to tell you I’ve had a most extraordinary 
time. Some very peculiar things have 
happened to me." 

“That,” said his wife, “is obvious. 
From your state I should think you’d 
been in at least a dozen barroom 
brawls.” 

“Nothing of the sort!” snapped Mr. 
Ellerbee. “I was transplanted to the 
future. And I’ve just got back. I 
landed in a field beyond the city.” 

“Why, Mr. Ellerbee,” cried his wife, 
looking at him in horror, “you’re 
drunk ! Oh, the cruelty of it, leaving me 
alone and unprotected, worrying for you 
all this time. And then to come back 
drunk I” 

“I tell you, I went into the future. 
They did awful things to me. I was 
knocked down by a car, and arrested 
and tried. I traveled in a rocket plane 
to a city at the North or South Pole, 
and all the people wore metal clothes, 
and there was a place where you could 
be put to death if you wanted it. They 
even ” 

“You expect me to believe that, you 
little worm!” screamed his wife. “You 
have the audacity to stand there in your 
cups, telling me, Louisa Ellerbee, the 
most awful pack of lies that even 
your drink-befuddled barroom friends 
wouldn’t believe. Oh, you wicked 
liar !” 

“But I was,”, insisted Mr. Ellerbee. 
“I have; I did; I tell you, Louisa, I 
was transplanted.” 

“If you say that once again. I’ll have 
you locked up for lunacy,” stormed his 



wife. “You’re drinking mad, that’s 
what you are.” 

“Oh, very well,” said Mr. Ellerbee. 

He glanced once more at his news- 
paper, where a front-page item had in- 
formed him of the incredible truth. 
How, to begin with, a certain ‘scientist’ 
had persuaded the exposition people to 
let him install in the Tower a Future 
Chamber, containing a collection of fake 
machinery of the type which some day 
might actually be invented to transport 
human beings into distant ages. The 
officials thought it would be a novelty 
for the public. Then they discovered the 
man was mad, actually believing his 
apparatus would work. Permitting him 
a final demonstration that failed utterly, 
they promptly locked up the chamber 
and kicked the man out, preferring to 
forget the whole thing. 

To-day the scientist had secretly re- 
turned and gained access to the power 
plant, where he meddled with the huge 
generators. Caught, he confessed his 
purpose was to furnish “more juice for 
the Future Chamber,"” claiming that his 
recent calculations proved that this was 
all it required to make it function. And 
thus the whole story became public. 

Mr. Ellerbee sighed and dropped the 
paper in a wastebasket. What was the 
good of telling Louisa how he had blun- 
dered into the Future Chamber and 
propitiously borne out the correctness 
of that fellow’s recent calculations? It 
would only start another argument, and 
besides Mr. Ellerbee wanted to brush 
his teeth. 





Hypnotism A great tongue — like a razor strop — 

licked Sbimada’s hair carelessly 

RULE of the BEE 

by Manly Wade Wellman 



D r. GEIGER, that plump little 
eccentric, rounded his bearded 
lips to puff, then mopped his 
brow. Outside, the sun crackled on the 
grass. He dipped his pen in ink and 
began to scrawl : 

July lOtb — Selected spedmen of apis 
nuUifera, or common honey bee — healthy 
young worker. Used GG-ray camera, 
fueled with chemical mixture as de- 



scribed July 9th; all elements found in 
living animal matter. After one hour 
under ray, full strength, specimen meas- 
ured — 

He flung down the pen. “I never 
could wrilte a report,” be complained 
aloud, and turned from the desk. 

The room, once the parlor of the 
farmhouse, was whitewashed through- 
out and lined with shelves of laboratory 




52 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



vessels and supplies. In its center stood 
a glass-and-metal structure, in appear- 
ance lialf cream separator, half magic 
lantern. From a frosted lens poured a 
bright-green ray, directed at a slant into 
a wooden soap box. At either side of 
this box knelt Dr. Geiger’s servants — a 
brawny Negro and a compact little 
Japanese. 

“Shimada! Luther!” growled the 
doctor. 

Their sweat-beaded faces, black and 
yellow, bobbed up to listen. “The ex- 
periment goes well,” volunteered the 
Oriental in his precise, nasal voice. 
“Size increases as you watch.” 

“Finish this report for me, Shimada,” 
directed his employer. “Say that the 
chemicals consumed as the ray bums ap- 
proximate in weight the weight increase 
of our specimen.” Rising, he walked to 
the machine and switched off the ray. 
Then he peered into the box. 

At first glance it seemed to contain 
one of the insect models so often seen in 
museums^ — a jointed, glossy thing six 
inches long and nearly half as tall. But 
it moved and lived, raised its head with 
shining eyes like quarter dollars, waved 
its antennae like the feelers of a lobster. 
Even as Dr. Geiger stooped to examine 
it more closely, it agitated its shiny, 
vein-patterned wings. They hummed 
like an electric fan, but it did not rise 
in flight. Its six legs were wired to sta- 
ples in the box bottom. 

“Lutlier,” said Geiger to the Negro, 
“go get some molasses. About two 
ounces.” 

“Yeah, boss.” The big dark man rose 
to his full height. “Say, ain’t we-all 
goin’ to take out his stingah?” 

“Not yet,” replied the doctor, shak- 
ing his bearded head. “This is a speci- 
men that must remain complete for 
study. When we’ve finished our process 
there’ll be time enough to disarm it and 
teach it to be useful — a living aircraft.” 
He paused to dream of what that last 
phrase meant. 



“Yeah, boss,” said Luther again, and 
slouched out to get the molasses. When 
he brought it back, Geiger and Shimada 
fed the oversized bee carefully. Then 
the doctor turned on the green ray once 
more. 

“You’re right, Shimada,” he said. 
“The thing grows as you watch it. 
What’ll the papers say ?” 

“Many lies,” responded the Japanese 
sagely. 

“Then we’ll finish the job — maybe 
the domestication — before calling in re- 
porters. Good thing we’re alone on this 
farm.” 

Shimada squinted at the insect that 
seemed to swell and spread with each 
moment of the green glare. “You are 
sure it will be docile?” 

Geiger nodded. “Of course. The 
bee is a social insect, fits into a complex 
and disciplined scheme of usefulness al- 
ready. I’m confident that it can be 
trained and directed.” 

THE RAY burned for another hour. 
Twice during this hour Geiger went to 
a bench stacked with bottles and there 
mixed carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and 
other materials. Carefully weighing and 
checking them, he poured them into the 
great tank just above the glowing lens. 
In proportion as the bee grew to kitten- 
size, cat-size, dog-size, the mixture in 
the tank dwindled. When the doctor 
again switched off the power, the pris- 
oner had increased to fill its soap box. 

“We’ll have to get it out of there,” 
pronounced Geiger. “It’ll break its 
wings, cooped up like that. Luther, get 
out the masks and the gas spray.” 

Luther went to a locker for the equip- 
ment, and all three arrayed themselves 
in goggles and respirators. Geiger him- 
self handled the big atomizer that threw 
gas. As the three gathered around the 
box, the overgrown insect seemed to 
shrink and then draw itself tense. 



RULE OF THE BEE 



53 



“Does it know it is to be gassed?” 
suggested Shimada. 

“Why not?” said Geiger. “Its brain 
grows with the rest of it. Think how 
intelligent a normal bee is, with only a 
tiny crumb of intellect.” He squirted a 
cloud of gas upon the creature. It 
struggled violently and briefly, then sub- 
sided. 

Quickly they ' loosed the wire that 
bound its feet and threw the box aside. 
Shimada and Luther began to bolt 
lengths of stout chain to the floor. 

“Boss,” mumbled Luther into his 
respirator, “that stingah’s pow’ful big 
now. Ain’t you goin’ to take it out?” 

Geiger shook his head. “I want to 
see it at its biggest.” 

Each of the chains terminated in a 
spring bracelet. These Shimada deftly 
snapped upon the six legs of the bee, 
legs as thick as curtain rods. As he 
fastened the last of them, the insect woke 
drowsily, stirred its wings, and scram- 
bled erect. It was a yard long now and 
more than a foot high, with a plushy- 
seeming body banded in mustard and 
chocolate. The stinger that occasioned 
Luther so much apprehension jabbed in 
and out, a polished dark spine nearly 
five inches long. 

“That’ll be all for to-day,” announced 
Geiger. "Let’s eat supper.” 

IN THE MORNING they continued 
the work. As the ray gleamed against 
the creature’s body Geiger smiled, Shi- 
mada pondered, and Luther brooded as 
though he expected the w’orst. They 
were kept busy mixing fresh chemical 
loads for the tank, for the growth was 
fast and great. In a little more than 
half an hour Geiger snapped the light 
off. 

Before them, as tall as a horse and 
longer, stood the shackled monster that 
yesterday had been a gently buzzing 
morsel of life, capable of gathering a ta- 
blespoonful of honey in a season. Its 



great football of a head bore convex, 
myriad-faceted eyes, like two clusters of 
jewels. The chained legs, braced in all 
directions like struts, were powerful as 
girders and big as scythe handles. On 
the shanks grew coarse fringes of hair, 
and the barrel-size abdomen, with its 
alternate bands, was furred like a collie 
dog. Above it beat the translucent 
wings, big enough for windmill sails. 

“Beauty, beauty !” cried Dr. Geiger, 
tugging his heat-danipened beard. 
“You’ll domesticate wonderfully-Lserve 
the human hive as messenger, freighter, 
passenger mount!” 

“It is powerful,” said Shimada. “It 
would break those chains, but the tight 
bracelets cut its ankles.” 

“How about the stingah?” ventured 
Luther once more. 

As if on cue, the gigantic beie’s weapon 
crept from its sheath — slender, keen, a 
natural saber. 

"Ah, yes, the sting,” said Geiger. 
"We’ll feed our pet first, then the gas 
and a quick operation ” 

He broke off, for the many-faceted 
eyes had turned upon him. Their sud- 
den gaze staggered him like a blow, and 
he looked quickly away — just , in time, 
something seemed to tell lijm. 

“He undahstan’s,” murmured Luther. 

“Maybe,” granted Geiger. “Keep an 
eye on him, Shimada. Luther and I 
will bring molasses from the kitchen.” 

Tlie Japanese nodded agreement, and 
the two others went into the back of 
the house. Dr. Geiger, at least, felt the 
tug of the bee’s stare at his back, and 
Luther’s dusky face was uneasy all the 
way along the hall. Soberly he turned 
the spigot of the molasses keg, and Gei- 
ger, holding a gallon measure to catch 
the ration, mused on what Luther had 
said. The thing understood that it 
would be gassed and disarmed. Certain 
it was that the tiny insect brain had be- 
come great, in power as in size. 

Well, then, all the better for domesti- 



54 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



cation. He speculated on the possibility 
of a whole squadron of bees, ridable 
like horses, loadable like mules — with 
wings and wisdom to boot, able to carry 
and to think, and costing no more than 
a gallon or so of cheap sweets every 
day. He, Geiger, would not only be a 
figure among scientists — he’d be a fig- 
ure among financiers as well. 

The molasses had filled the tin to the 
brim. Geiger lifted it carefully. All the 
way back down the hall his eyes were 
upon it, wary of splashing. It was 
Luther, walking beliind him, who looked 
ahead and saw what had happened be- 
tween Shimada and the bee. 

The Negro’s strong hand suddenly 
clamped Geiger’s shoulder. The doctor 
jumped, spilled about an inch of mo- 
lasses, started to protest. Then he, too, 
saw. 

FACE TO FACE stood the shackled 
monster and Sliimada. The little yel- 
low man’s face was drawn, blank. His 
muscles hung slack all over him, as 
though he were ready to collapse, yet 
was held erect by a power not his own. 
His slanting black eyes were wide, star- 
ing, and upon them focused the great, 
many-powered orbs of the gigantic bee. 
Every facet mirrored mastery, it seemed 
— poured that mastery upon the Japa- 
nese. 

Hypnotism, thought Geiger at once. 

He, too, stood stilt, as though unable 
to move or speak or tear his eyes away. 
Even the powerful grip of Luther upon 
his shoulder seemed distant and light. 
Yet a dispassionate comer of his intel- 
lect, as though it were an extra mind 
that observed without being shocked, 
formed the explanation. Hypnotism. 
That extra mind functioned throughout 
all that followed. 

Shimada’s fingers were fumbling me- 
chanically in a pocket. They produced 
a bunch of keys. His limp legs buckled. 
He crouched on the floor, fiddled with 



the locks that imprisoned the bee’s limbs. 
One lock fell open — ^another 

The giant bee was unshackled. 

Very handily and delicately, its fore- 
feet closed around Shimada and drew 
him upright. A great tongue, like a ra- 
zor strop, licked Shimada’s hair caress- 
ingly. The Japanese sagged down, and 
the supporting forefeet eased him to the 
floor. He slept. 

Geiger found his voice, screamed 
wordlessly in protest and execration. 
Luther tried to snatch him out of sight, 
but too late. The head turned, tlie mul- 
tiple eyes saw. 

The watchers ran. Surely the thing 
was too big, too wide in the wings, to 

negotiate the door But there came 

a crash of masonry, a falling of boards. 
Geiger’s extra mind explained to him as 
he ran ; a bee was strong out of all pro- 
portion to its size, and this one was 
larger than a horse. Then they were 
out of the narrow hall. That momen- 
tarily baffled the thing. Luther, ahead, 
crossed the kitchen in a leap and jerked 
open the back door. They dashed out 
into the yard. 

It was bright and oppressively hot 
there. The doctor paused and gazed 
stupidly at tire molasses tin. He still 
held it, almost empty, and his front was 
bedewed with thick sweetness. He had 
borne that gallon measure, splashing at 
every step, in his desperate flight. 
Licking his dry lips, he set it down. 

Luther had taken the ax from the 
woodpile beside the door. He turned 
toward the house. “I bettah go back.” 
he announced. 

“Back?” echoed Geiger, as if he had 
never heard the word before. 

“Can’t leave Shimada in there,” said 
Luther in the apologetic tone he em- 
ployed when mentioning a chore he had 
forgotten. Slowly but firmly he set his 
foot on the threshold. 

Then the roar of wings burst upon 
them. Geiger, still in the yard, saw the 



RULE OF THE BEE 



55 



clapboards spring from their fastenings 
to right and left of the door. The jambs 
fell away in splinters, and the monster 
bee was swooping into the open, its 
wings full of rainbows. 

Luther swung the ax, missed. Next 
moment he had been snatched up into 
the air, like a rabbit by an eagle. All 
six feet clutched him. The banded ab- 
domen curved under, baring its weapon. 
Luther cried out, wildly and briefly. 
Then, released, he fell. His slayer beat 
high up into the heavens. 

Geiger ran to Luther and bent down. 
The Negro was dead, already swelling 
with his sudden freight of poison. His 
hand still clutched the ax, and Geiger 
wrenched it from him, then stared up. 
The terror was high and far. It seemed 
no larger than an ordinary bee. 

THE DOCTOR hurried back into 
the house, through the ruined kitchen 
and hall, into the laboratory. 

Shimada lay where the bee had 
placed him. Geiger flung down the ax, 
knelt and shook the still figure. The 
slant eyes opened drowsily ; the head 
nodded as if in recollection of some- 
thing. 

“We must hurry,” said Shimada me- 
chanically. “It will be back. We must 
be ready.” 

“What will be back?” demanded Gei- 
ger. 

“The bee, with companion.s — ^to be 
made great like itself. Yes. That will 
be our job.” 

Geiger felt the blood throbbing in his 
ears and temples. Pie caught a great 
tuft of beard in his teeth. “What are 
you saying ?” he shouted, as though Shi- 
mada could be made understandable 
again by force of lungs. “You want to 
work on other bees? Make them huge, 
to destroy the world?” 

Again the mechanical nod. “We 
must,” said the drowsy voice. “We 
must.” 



He turned and began to check the 
mechanism of the ray apparatus. 

“Wake up!” Geiger thundered at 
him. “You’ve been hypnotized!” 

Shimada turned, smiling thinly. “No, 
not hypnotized,” he amended. “I only 
know what is right, what should rule. 
The bees, made great and wise ” 

“Do you want to betray the human 
race?” Geiger interrupted him. "Well, 
I won’t let you.” 

At that the Japanese suddenly 
whipped around and closed in. Geiger 
tried to hit him, felt a twisting pain in 
his right arm — jujutsu. The agony 
roared through his body like fire. He 
collapsed, Shimada pinning him expertly 
to the floor. 

“You will serve,” panted the Japanese 
in his ear, “as I serve.” 

The air outside filled with a humming 
roar. Tlien silence. Then a heavy, flat 
clop, clop, clop in the kitchen. Then in 
the hall, clop, clop, clop — great, homy 
feet walking 

It was entering the laboratory, a strid- 
ing derrick with folded wings. Its two 
forelegs were doubled up to cradle a 
white-painted wooden box — a hive, 
humming dully with hundreds of tiny 
bees. 

Shimada released Geiger and stood 
up, cringingly alert. Geiger, suddenly 
wiser than he had ever been, rolled upon 
his face and crouched there. 

“You have returned,” said Shimada 
to the winged mastodon. "Your com- 
panions, too, shall be increased. You 
shall rule.” 

Geiger dared look no higher than 
those great, spiny feet. He must not 
meet the compelling eye clusters that 
knew how to bind and bend a man’s 
will. 

“This person shall serve you, too,” 
Shimada was babbling. "See, he falls 
down to worship before you, as all hu- 
manity shall worship. Human hands 



56 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



are too weak to hold this world agfainst 
the wings and stings of bees, made great 
and strong.” 

GEIGER, groveling, tried to plan. 
What if the mighty insect could read 
his rebellious thoughts tlirough the back 
of his bowed head? 

Shimada addressed him softly, “Go 
to the bench, Geiger, Mix the chemi- 
cals.” 

“Yes,” lie muttered. “I’ll mix them.” 

He did not rise, but crept on all fours 
to the bench. There he came to his 
knees, took tlie largest beaker, poured 
Amadous liquids into it. Clop, clop — the 
monster was moving behind him. 

“A new day dawns,” went on Shi- 
mada, chanting in exultant hysteria. 
“The day of the bee.” 

Clop, clop — ^the tiling had come to 
gaze over his shoulder. Was it only 
curious, or did it recognize the falsity of 
his submission? Would it strike the 
sting into him, kill him as it had killed 
Luther ? 

He caught his bearded lower lip in 
his teeth, repeated in his heart the first 
half dozen words of a childhood prayer. 
Tlien he spun on his knees. 

He dashed the beaker's contents — a 
frothing blend of all the corrosive adds 
he had been able to put his hands on — 
full into the staring mask that hung 
above and before him. 



At once all was roaring chaos. 
Blinded, its face half eaten away on the 
instant, the monster clutched for Geiger. 
By a miracle he dodged away, snatching 
up Luther’s ax from the floor. Its 
wings made a howling gale as it charged 
him, missed, upset the ray apparatus and 
cannoned into the wall. Plaster fell 
away in sheets. The thing fluttered and 
scrambled, half stunned. Then Geiger 
ran in, whirling his ax. The blade hit 
into the cablelike neck. 

The add-scalded head flew across the 
room like an empty basket in a hurri- 
cane. The carcass collapsed and floun- 
dered, its sting jabbing in and out, pis- 
ton-wise. 

Silence for six seconds. 

The little bees of the overturned hive 
began to hum softly in the room. One 
of them, soaring up, jabbed Shimada’s 
ear, 

“Ow!” he yelped. Then, in his nor- 
mal voice, “Dr. Gdger ! What has hap- 
pened? Was I hurt?” 

He ran through the wreckage of the 
ray apparatus, a hand stretched toward 
his employer. His eyes were clear, 
sane; his face asked many questions. 
With the bee had died its spell. 

Gdger felt weary and shaky and, de- 
spite the temperature and his exertions, 
a little chilly. First he wondered what 
to tell Shimada. Then he wondered 
what to tell the world. 



You’ll be {^ad to make your face 



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Into The Future 

This issue is the Srst one of the fifth year of the New 
Astounding Stories. It is, in one way, a momentous anniversary 
issue; but in a bigger and more practical sense it is my time for 
taking stock, checking up and asking myself, “ Quo Vadis?” 
“Whither goest thou?” 

In the ability to answer that question honestly lies the secret 
of progress throughout the ages of time, and the timeless ages 
before time was registered by shadows on crude sundials, 

I could not write in this vein to most magazine audiences, but 
you and I belong to a select circle. We can sit side by side 
though we may be a thousand miles apart — for we are watching the 
same stars, the same moon, the same planets. You and I Aave 
learned to know them, not as flickering points of light in a distant 
sky, but as familiar distances which we have traversed together.. 

To the average person “The Black Hole of Cygnus” means 
nothing. But you and I have threaded our way along various 
threads of logic concerning it. We think about it, and wonder. 
That is why we are a select circle. Is it, possibly, an area of 
negative energy? (How strange that question would sound to an 
outsider!) We don’t know, but we speculate. ’ 

We have absorbed variant theoretical explanations of phenomena 
concerning which the average person has never heard. We debate 
them calmly, restrainedly, for that is the manner of serious students. 
A nd that is why I feel I can answer the question in the first para- 
graph honestly in this way: “Forward — toward the stars.” 

I couldn’t say anything finer about an audience, for we are a 
great army without discord. Debate? Of course! Differing 
opinions? Certainly. But with an inspiration visualized by dreams 
of the future, based on known facts of the present. 

A fine circle, an exclusive circle, but one which can always 
welcome another friend to the camp fire. Once again I wonder if 
you won’t pass your copy along to some one who may be enough of 
a thinker to join us in our journey through the fifth year of science- 
fiction progress in the New Astounding Stories. Will yOu? Thank 
you. 



The Editor. 




science 



Galactic 



Patrol 



by E. E. Smith, Ph.D. 



UP TO NOW: 

Law enforcement lagged behind crime 
because the police were limited in their 
spheres of action, while criminals were 
not. Therefore, when the inertialess 
drive zvas perfected and commerce 
throughout the galaxy became com- 
monplace, crime became so rampant as 
to threaten civilisation. Thus came into 
being the Galactic Patrol, an organiza- 



tion whose highest members, the Lens- 
men, are of unlimited authority and 
range. Each is identified by wearing 
the Lens, a pseudoliving telepathic jewel 
matched to the ego of its wearer by those 
master philosophers, the Arisians. The 
Lens cannot be either imitated or coun- 
terfeited, since it glows zvith color when 
worn by its ozimer, and since it kills any 
other who attempts to wear it. 

Of each million selected candidates for, 







The two repulsively erect bipeds before them neither burned nor fell. 
Beams — no matter how powerful — did not reach them at all 





60 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



the Lens, all except about a hundred fell 
before the grueling tests employed to 
weed out the unfit. Kimball Kinnison 
graduates No. 1 in his class, and is given 
command of the space ship Brittania, 
which is of a new type, using explosives. 
He is informed that the pirates, or 
Boskonians, are gaining the upper hand 
over the patrol because of a new and 
almost unlimited source of power. He 
is instructed to capture one of the new- 
type pirate ships, in order to learn the 
secret of that power. 

Kinnison is successful in finding and 
defeating a pirate warship. Peter Van- 
Buskirk leads the storming party of 
Valerians — men of remote human ances- 
try, but of extraordinary size, strength, 
and agility because of the terrific gravi- 
tation of their native planet — in wiping 
out those of the pirate crew not killed 
in the battle between the two ships. 

Then the scientists get the informa- 
tion they want. It cannot be transmitted 
to Prime Base, however, because the 
pirates are blanketing all channels of 
communication. Boskonian ships are 
gathering, and the crippled Brittania can 
neither run nor fight. Therefore, each 
man is given a spool of tape bearing the 
information and they take to the life- 
boats, after setting up a “direction-by- 
chance" to make the Brittania pursue an 
unpredictable course in space, and after 
rigging bombs to explode her at the 
first touch of a pirate beam. 

The Brittania’s erratic course brings 
her back near the lifeboat of Kinnison 
and VanBuskirk, where the pirates at- 
tempt to stop her. She blows up, and 
the explosion disables practically the en- 
tire personnel of one of the attackers. 
The two patrolmen capture the pirate 
ship and drive her toward home, as far 
as the solar system of Velantia, before 
betng blocked off by the Boskonians. 

Abandoning the vessel, they land be- 
side a cliff upon the planet Delgon, 
where they are attacked by a horde of . 
Catlats. Through his Lens Kinnison 



sends out a mental call for help; and, 
shortly after his call is answered, a 
winged reptile comes hurtling downward 
from the top of the cliff. 

AS the quasi-reptilian organism de- 
scended, the cliff dwellers went 
■L mad. Their attack upon the two 
patrolmen, already vicious, became in- 
sanely frantic. Abandoning the gigantic 
Dutchman entirely, every Catlat within 
reach threw himself upon Kinnison and 
so enwrapped the Lensman’s head, arms, 
and torso that he could scarcely move a 
muscle. Then entwining captors and 
helpless man moved slowly toward the 
largest of the openings in the cliff’s 
obsidian face. 

Upon that slowly moving melange 
VanBuskirk hurled himself, deadly 
space ax swinging. But, hew and smite 
as he would, he could neither free his 
chief from the grisly horde enveloping 
him nor impede, measurably, that 
horde’s progress toward its goal. How- 
ever, he could and did cleave away the 
comparatively few cables confining Kin- 
nison’s legs. 

“Clamp a leg lock around my waist, 
Kim,’’ he directed, the flashing thought 
in no whit interfering with his prodig- 
ious ax play, “and as soon as I get a 
chance, before the real tussle comes. I’ll 
couple us together with all the belt snaps 
I can reach. Wherever we’re going 
we’re going together! Wonder why 
they haven’t ganged up on me, too, and 
what that lizard is doing? Been too 
busy to look, but thought he’d have been 
on my back before this.’’ 

“He won’t be on your back. That’s 
Worsel, the lad who answered my call. 
I told you his voice was funny? They 
can’t talk or hear — use telepathy, like 
the Manarkans. He’s cleaning them 
out in great shape. If you can hold me 
for three minutes, he’ll have the lot of 
them whipped.’’ 

“I can hold you for three minutes 



GALACTIC PATROL 



61 



against all the vermin between here and 
Andromeda,” VanBuskirk declared. 
"There, I’ve got four snaps on you.” 

“Not too tough. Bus,” Kinnison cau- 
tioned. “Leave enough slack so that 
you can cut me loose if you have to. 
Remember that the spools are more im- 
portant than any one of us. Once in- 
side that cliff we’ll all be washed up — 
even Worsel can’t help us there— so 
drop me rather than go in yourself.” 

“Um,” grunted the Dutchman, non- 
committally. “There, I’ve tossed my 
spool out onto the ground. Tell Worsel 
that if they get us he is to pick it up 
and carry on. We’ll go ahead with 
yours, inside the cliff if necessary.” 

“I said cut me loose if you can’t hold 
me!” Kinnison snapped, “and I meant 
it. That’s an official order. Remember 
,k!” 

“Official order be danmed!” snorted 
VanBuskirk, still plying bis ponderous 
mace. “They won’t get you into that 
hole without breaking me in two, and 
that will be a job of breaking in any- 
body’s language. Now shut your pan,” 
he concluded grindy. “We’re here, and 
Fm going to be too busy, even to think, 
very shortly.” 

He spoke truly. He had already se- 
lected his point of resistance, and as he 
reached it he thrust the head of his mace 
into the crack behind the open trap- 
door, jammed its shaft into the shoulder 
socket of his armor, set blocky legs and 
Herculean arms against the side of the 
cliff, arched his mighty back, and held. 
And the surprised Catlats, now inside 
the gloomy fastness of their tunnel, 
thrust anchoring tentacles in the wall 
and pulled harder, ever harder. 

Under tlie terrific stress Kinnison’s 
heavy armor creaked as its air-tight 
joints accommodated themselves to their 
new and unusual positions. That armor, 
of space-tempered alloy, would, of 
course, not give way — but what of its 
human anchor ? 



WELL IT WAS for Kimball Kinni- 
son that day, and well for our present 
civilization, that the Brittania’s quarter- 
master selected Peter VanBuskirk for, 
the Lensman’s mate; for death, inevita- 
ble and horrible, resided within that 
cliff, and no human frame of Earthly 
upbringing, however armofed, could 
have borne, for even a fraction of a 
second, the violence of the Catlats’ ptiH. 

But Peter VanBuskirk, although of 
Earthly Dutch ancestry, had been bom 
and reared upon the planet Valeria, and 
that massive planet’s gravity — over two 
and one half times Earth’s — had given 
him a physique arid a strength almost 
inconceivable to us life-long dwellers 
upon small, green Terra. His head, 
as has been said, towered seventy-eight 
inches above the ground ; but at that he 
appeared squatty because of his enor- 
mous spread of shoulder arid his star- 
tling girth. His bones were elephantine 
— they had to be, to furnish adequate 
support and leverage for the incredible 
masses of muscle overlaying and sur- 
rounding them. But even VanBuskirk’s 
Valerian strength was now being taxed 
to the uttermost. 

The anchoring chains hummed and 
snarled as the clamps bit into the rings. 
Muscles writhed and knotted; tendons 
stretched and threatened to snap ; sweat 
rolled down his mighty back. His jaws 
locked in agony and his eyes started 
from their sockets with the effort; but 
still VanBuskirk held. 

“Cut me loose!” commanded Kinni- 
son at last. “Even you can’t take much 
more of that. No use letting them break 
your back. Cut, I tell you. I said cut, 
you big, dumb. Valerian ape!” 

But if VanBuskirk heard or felt the 
savagely voiced commands of his chief, 
he gave no heed. Straining to the very 
ultimate fiber of his being, exerting 
every iota of loyal mind and every atom 
of Brobdingnagian frame, grimly, tena- 
ciously, stubbornly the gigantic Dutch- 
man held. 



62 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Held while Worsel of Velantia, that 
grotesquely hideous, that fantastically 
reptilian ally, plowed toward the two 
patrolmen through the horde of Catlats ; 
a veritable tornado of rending fang and 
shearing talon, of beating wing and 
crushing snout, of mailed hand and 
trenchant tail. 

Held while that demon incarnate 
drove closer and closer, hurling entire 
Catlats and numberless dismembered 
fragments of Catlats to the four winds 
as he came. 

Held while the raging tumult, whose 
center was Worsel, swept over his rigid 
body like an ocean wave breaking over 
an immovable rock: 

, Held until Worsel’s snakelike body, 
a supple and sentient cable of living 
steel, tipped with its double-edged, 
razor-keen, scimitarlike sting, slipped 
into the tunnel beside Kinnison and 
wrought grisly havoc among the Cat- 
lats close-packed there! 

As the terrific tension upon him was 
suddenly released VanBuskirk’s own ef- 
forts hurled him away from the cliff. 
He fell to the ground, his overstrained 
muscles twitching uncontrollably, and on 
top of him fell the fettered Lensman. 
Kinnison, his hands now free, unfas- 
tened the clamps linking his armor to 
that of VanBuskirk and whirled to con- 
front the foe. But the fighting was over. 
The Catlats had had enough of Worsel 
of Velantia; and, shrieking in baffled 
rage, the last of them were disappear- 
ing into their caves. He turned back to 
VanBuskirk, who was getting shakily 
to his feet. 

“Thanks a lot, Worsel; we were just 
about to run out of time ” Van- 

Buskirk began, only to be silenced by 
an insistent thought from the grotesque 
stranger. 

“Stop that radiating! Do not think 
at all if you cannot screen your minds!” 
came the urgent mental commands. 
“These Catlats are a very minor pest of 
this planet Delgon. There are others 



worse by far. Fortunately, your 
thoughts are upon a frequency never 
used here — if I had not been so very 
close to you I would not have heard 
you at all — but should the Overlords 
have a listener upon that band, your 
unshielded thinking may already have 
done irreparable harm. Follow me. I 
will slow my speed to yours, but hurry 
all possible!” 

“You tell 'im, chief,” VanBuskirk 
said, and fell silent; his mind as nearly 
a perfect blank as his iron will could 
make it. 

“This is a screened thought, through 
my Lens,” Kinnison took up the con- 
versation. “You don’t need to slow 
down on our account. We can develop 
any speed you wish. Lead on!” 

THE VELANTIAN leaped into the 
air and flashed away in headlong flight. 
Much to his surprise, the two human 
beings kept up with him effortlessly 
upon their inertialess drives, and after 
a moment Kinnison directed another 
thought. 

“If time is an object, Worsel, know 
that my companion and I can carry you 
anywhere you wish to go at a speed hun- 
dreds of times greater than this that we 
are using,” he vouchsafed. 

It developed that time was of the 
utmost possible importance and the 
three closed in. Mighty wings folded 
back, hands and talons gripped armor 
chains, and the group, inertialess all, 
shot away at a pace that Worsel of Ve- 
lantia had never even imagined in his 
wildest dreams of speed. Their goal, 
a small, featureless tent of thin sheet 
metal, occupying a barren spot in a 
writhing, crawling expanse of lushly 
green jungle, was reached in a space of 
minutes. Once inside, Worsel sealed 
the opening and turned to his armored 
guests. 

“We can now think freely in open 
converse. This wall is the carrier of a 



GALACTIC PATROL 



63 



Bcreen through which no thought can 
make its way.” 

“This world you call by a name I 
have interpreted as Delgon,” Kinnison 
began, slowly. “You are a native of 
Velantia, a planet now beyond the Sun. 
Therefore, I assumed that you were 
taking us to your space ship. Where is 
that ship?” 

“I have no ship,” the Velantian re- 
plied, composedly, “nor have I need of 
one. For the remainder of my life — 
which is now to be measured in a few of 
yOur hours — this tent is my only ” 

“No ship!” VanBuskirk broke in. "I 
hope we won’t have to stay on this God- 
forsaken planet forever — and I’m not 
very keen on going much farther in that 
lifeboat, either.” 

“We may not have to do either of 
those things,” Kinnison reassured his 
sergeant. "Worsel comes of a long-lived 
tribe, and the fact that he thinks his 
enemies are going to get him in a few 
hours doesn’t make it true, by any 
means. There are .three of us to reckon 
with now. Also, when we need a space 
ship we’ll get one, if we have to build 
it. Now, let’s find out what this is all 
about. Worsel, start at the banning 
and don’t skip a thing. Between us we 
can surely find a way out, for all of us.” 

THEN the Velantian told his story. 
There was much repetition, much round- 
about thinking, as some of the concepts 
were so bizarre as to defy transmission, 
but finally the Earthman had a fairly 
complete picture of the situation within 
that strange solar system. 

The inhabitants of Delgon were bad, 
being characterized by a type and a 
depth of depravity impossible for a mind 
of Earth to visualize. Not only were 
the Delgonians enemies of the Velan- 
tians in the ordinary sense of the word ; 
not only were they pirates and robbers; 
not only were they their masters, taking 
them both as slaves and as food cattle; 
but there was something more, some- 



thing deeper and worse, something only 
partially transmissible from mind to 
mind — a horribly and repulsively Satur- 
nalian type of mental and intellectual, as 
well as biological, parasitism. This re- 
lationship had gone on for ages. 

Finally, however, a thought screen 
had been devised, behind which Velan- 
tia developed a high science of her own. 
The students of this science lived with 
but one purpose in life: to free Velantia 
from the tyranny of the Overlords of 
Delgon. Each student, as he reached 
the zenith of his mental power, went to 
Delgon, to study and if possible destroy 
the tyrants. And after disembarking 
upon the soil of that dread planet no 
Velantian, whether student or scientist 
or private adventurer, had ever re- 
turned to Velantia. 

“But why don’t you lay a com- 
plaint against them before the coun- 
cil?” demanded VanBuskirk. “They’d 
straighten things out in a hurry.” 

“We have not heretofore known, save 
by the most unreliable and roundabout 
reports, that such an organization as 
your Galactic Patrol really exists,” the 
Velantian replied, obliquely. “Never- 
theless, many years since, we laimched a 
space ship toward its nearest reputed 
base. However, since that trip requires 
three normal lifetimes, with deadly peril 
in every moment, it will be a miracle if 
the ship ever completes it. 

“Furthermore, even if the ship should 
reach its destination, our complaint will 
probably not even be considered, because 
we have not a single shred of real evi- 
dence with which to support it. No 
living Velantian has ever seen a Del- 
gonian, nor can any one testify to the 
truth of anything I have told you. While 
we believe that that is the true condi- 
tion of affairs, our belief is based, not 
upon evidence admissible in a court of 
law, but upon deductions from occa- 
sional thoughts radiated from this 
planet. Nor were these thoughts alike 
in tenor ” 



64 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“Skip that for a minute — ^we’ll take 
the pkture as correct,” Kinnison broke 
in. “Nothing you have said so far 
shows any necessity for you to die in 
the next few hours.” 

“The only object in life for a trained 
Velantian is to liberate his planet from 
the horrors of subjection to Delgon. 
Many such have come here, but not one 
has found a workable idea; not one has 
either returned to or even communi- 
cated with Veljuitia after starting work 
here. I am a Velantian. I am here. 
Soon I shall open that door and get in 
touch with the enemy. Since better 
men than I am have failed, I do not ex- 
pect to succeed. Nor shall I return to 
my native planet. As soon as I start 
to work the Delgonians will command 
me to come to them. In spite of myself 
I will obey that command, and very 
shortly thereafter I shall die, in what 
fashion I do not know.” 

“SNAP OUT OF IT, Worsel!” 
barked Kinnison, roughly. “That’s the 
rankest kind of defeatism, and you 
know it. Nobody ever got to the first 
check station on that kind of fuel.” 

“You are talking about something 
now about whicli you know nothing 
whatever.” For the first time Worsel’s 
thoughts showed passion. “Your 
thoughts are idle — ignorant — ^vain. You 
know nothing whatever of the mental 
power of the Delgonians.” 

“Maybe not — I make no claim of 
being a mental giant — but I do know 
that mental power alone cannot over- 
come a definitely and positively opposed 
xvill. An Arisian could probably break 
my will, but I’ll stake my life that no 
other mentality in the known universe 
can do it!” 

“You think so. Earthling?” And a 
seething sphere of mental force encom- 
passed the Tellurian’s brain. Kinni- 
son’s senses reeled at the terrific im- 
pact; but he shook off the attack and 
smiled. 



“Gome again, Worsel. That one 
jarred me to the heels, but it didn’t 
quite ring the bell.” 

“You flatter me,” the Valentian de- 
clared in surprise. “I could scarcely 
touch your mind — could not penetrate 
even its outermost defenses, and I 
exerted all my force. But that fact gives 
me hope. My mind is, of course, in- 
ferior to theirs, but since I could not 
influence you at all, even in direct con- 
tact and at full power, you may be able 
to resist the minds of the Delgonians. 
Are you willing to hazard the stake you 
Mentioned a moment ago? Or rather, 
I ask you, by the Lens you wear, so to 
hazard it — with the liberty of an entire 
people dependent upon the outcome.” 

“Why not ? The spools come first, of 
course — but without you our spools 
would both be buried now inside the 
cliff of the Catlats. Fix it so that your 
people will find these spools and carry 
on with them in case we fail, and I’m 
your man. There — now tell me what 
we’re apt to be up against, and then let 
loose your dogs.” 

“That I cannot do. I know only 
that they will dirqct against you mental 
forces such a:s you never even imagined. 
I cannot forewarn you in any respect 
whatever as to what forms those forces 
may appear to assume. I know, how- 
ever, that I shall succumb to the first 
bolt of force. Therefore, bind me with 
these chains before I open the shield. 
Physically, I am extremely strong, as 
you know; therefore, be sure to put on 
enough chains so that I cannot possibly 
break free, for if I can break away I 
shall undoubtedly kill both of you.” 

“How come all these things here, 
ready to hand?” asked VanBuskirk, as 
the two patrolmen so loaded the passive 
Velantian with chains, manacles, hand- 
cuffs, leg irons and straps that he could 
not move even his tail. 

“It has been tried before, many 
times,” Worsel replied bleakly, “but the 
rescuers, being Velantians, also sue- 



GALACTIC PATROL 



6S 



cumbed to the force and took off the 
irons. Now I caution you, with all the 
power of my mind — no matter what you 
see, no matter what I may command you 
or beg of you, no matter how urgently 
you yourself may wish to do so — do not 
liberate me under any eireumstances un- 
less and until things appear exactly as 
they do now and that door is shut. 
Know fully and ponder well the fact 
that if you release me while that door 
is open it will be because you have 
yielded to Delgonian force, and that not 
only will all three of us die, lingeringly 
and horribly, but also, and worse, that 
our deaths will not have been of any 
benefit to civilization. Do you under- 
stand? Are you ready?” 

“I understand. I am ready,” thought 
Kinnison and VanBuskirk as one. 

“Open that door.” 

KINNISON did so. For a few min- 
utes nothing happened. Then three- 
dimensional pictures began to form be- 
fore their eyes — pictures which they 
knew existed only in their own minds, 
yet which were composed of such solid 
substance that they obscured from vision 
everything else in the material world. 
At first hazy and indistinct, the scene — 
for it was in no sense now a picture — 
became clear and sharp. And, piling 
horror upon horror, sound was added 
to sight. And directly before their eyes, 
blotting out completely even the solid 
metal of the wall only a few feet distant 
from them, the two outlanders saw and 
heard something which can be repre- 
sented only vaguely by imagining 
Dante’s Inferno an actuality and raised 
to the Mth power! 

In a dull and gloomy cavern there 
lay, sat, and stood hordes of things. 
These beings — the “nobility” of Delgon 
— had reptilian bodies, somewhat similar 
to Worsel’s, but they had no wings and 
their heads were distinctly apish rather 
than crocodilian. Every greedy eye in 
the vast throng was fixed upon an 

AST— 5 



enormous screen which, like that in a 
motion-picture theater, walled off one 
end of the stupendous cavern. 

Slowly, shudderingly, Kinnison’s 
mind began to take in what was happen- 
ing upon that screen. And it was really 
happening, Kinnison was sure of that. 
This was not a picture any more than 
this whole scene was an illusion. It 
was all an actuality — somewhere. 

Upon that screen there were stretched 
out victims. Hundreds of these were 
Velantians, more hundreds were winged 
Delgonians, and scores were creatures 
whose like Kinnison had never seen. 
And all these were being tortured; tor- 
tured to death both in fashions known 
to the Inquisitors of old and ways of 
which even those experts had never an 
inkling. 

Some were being twisted outrageously 
in three-dimensional frames. Others 
were being stretched upon racks. Many 
were being pulled horribly apart, chains 
intermittently but relentlessly extend- 
ing each helpless member. Still others 
were being lowered into pits of con- 
stantly increasing temperatures or were 
being attacked by gradually increasing 
concentrations of some foully corrosive 
vapor which ate away their tissues, little 
by little. And, apparently the piece de 
resistance of the hellish exhibition, one 
luckless Velantian, in a spot of hard> 
cold light, was being pressed out flat 
against the screen, as an insect might 
be pressed between two panes of glass. 
Thinner and thinner he became, under 
the influence of some awful, invisible 
force, in spite of every exertion of in- 
humanely powerful muscles driving 
body, tail, wings, arms, legs, and head 
in every frantic maneuver which grim 
and imminent death could call forth. 

Physically nauseated, brainsick at the 
atrocious visions blasting his mind and 
at the screaming of the damned assailing 
his ears, Kinnison strove to wrench his 
mind away, but was curbed savagely by 
Worsel. 



66 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“You must stay! You must pay at- 
tention!” commanded the Velantian. 
“This is the first time any living being 
has seen so much! You must help me 
now! They have been attacking me 
from the first ; but, braced by the power- 
ful negatives in your mind, I have been 
able to resist and have transmitted a 
truthful picture so far. But they are 
surprised at my resistance and are con- 
centrating more force. I am slipping 
fast. You must brace my mind! And 
when the picture changes — as change it 
must, and soon — do not believe it. Hold 
fast, brothers of the Lens, for your own 
lives and for the people of Velantia. 
There is more — and worse!” 

Kinnison stayed. So did VanBuskirk, 
fighting with all his stubborn Dutch 
mind. Revolted, outraged, nauseated 
as they were at the sights and sounds, 
they stayed. Flinching with the vic- 
tims as they were fed into the hoppers 
of slowly turning mills; wincing at the 
unbelievable acts of the boilers, the beat- 
ers, the scourgers, the flayers; suffer- 
ing themselves every possible and many 
apparently impossible nightmares. 

The light in the cavern now changed 
to a strong, greenish-yellow glare; and 
in that hard illumination it was to be 
seen that each dying being was sur- 
rounded by a palely glowing aura. And 
now, crowning horror of that unutter- 
ably horrible orgy of sadism resublimed, 
from the eyes of each one of the mon- 
strous audience there leaped out visible 
beams of force. These beams touched 
the aurae of the dying prisoners — 
touched and clung. And as they clung 
the aurae shrank and disappeared. 

The Overlords of Delgon were actu- 
ally jeeding upon the ebbing life forces 
of their tortured, dying victims! 

VI. 

GRADUALLY and so insidiously 
that the Velantian’s dire warnings might 
as well never have been uttered, the 



scene changed. Or rather, the scene it- 
self did not change, but the observers’ 
perception of it slowly underwent such 
a radical transformation that it was in 
no sense the same scene it had been a 
few minutes before ; and they felt almost 
abjectly apologetic as they realized how 
unjust their previous ideas had been. 

For the cavern was not a torture 
chamber, as they had supposed. It was, 
in reality, a hospital, and the beings they 
had thought victims of brutalities un- 
speakable were, in reality, patients un- 
dergoing treatments and operations for 
various ills. In proof whereof the 
patients — who should have been dead by 
this time were the early ideas well- 
founded — were now being released from 
the screenlike operating theater. And 
not only was each one completely whole 
and sound in body, but he was also 
possessed of a mental clarity, power, and 
grasp undreamed of before his hospitali- 
zation and treatment by Delgon’s super 
surgeons ! 

Also, the intruders had misunderstood 
completely the audience and its behavior. 
They were really medical students, and 
the beams which had seemed to be de- 
vouring rays were simply visibeams, by 
means of which each student could fol- 
low, in close-up detail, each step of the 
operation in which he was most inter- 
ested. The patients themselves were 
living, vocal witnesses of the visitors’ 
mistakenness, for each, as he made his 
way through the assemblage of students, 
was voicing his thanks for the marvel- 
ous results of his particular treatment or 
operation. 

Kinnison now became acutely aware 
that he himself was in need of immediate 
surgical attention. His body, which he 
had always regarded so highly, he now 
perceived to be sadly inefficient ; his 
mind was in even worse shape than his 
physique ; and both body and mind 
would be improved immeasurably if he 
cotild get to the Delgonian hospital be- 
fore the surgeons departed. In fact, he 



GALACTIC PATROL 



felt an almost irresistible urge to rush 
away toward that hospital instantly, 
without the loss of a single precious 
second. And, since he had had no rea- 
son to doubt the evidence of his own 
senses, his conscious mind was not 
aroused to active opposition. How- 
ever, in his subconscious, or his essence, 
or whatever you choose to call that ulti- 
mate something of his that made him a 
Lensman, a “dead, slow bell’’ began 
to sound. 

“Release me and we’ll all go, before 
the surgeons leave the hospital,’’ came 
an insistent thought from Worsel. “But 
hurry — we haven’t much time!’’ 

VanBuskirk, completely under the in- 
fluence of the frantic compulsion, leaped 
toward the Velantian, only to be checked 
bodily by Kinnison, who was foggily 
trying to isolate and identify one thing 
about the situation that did not ring 
quite true. 

“Just a minute. Bus. Shut that door 
first!’’ he commanded. 

“Never mind the door!’’ Worsel’s 
thought came in a roaring crescendo. 
“Release me instantly ! Hurry, or it 
will be too late, for all of us!’’ 

“All this terrific rush doesn’t make 
any kind of sense at all,” Kinnison de- 
clared, closing his mind resolutely to 
the clamor of the Velantian’s thoughts. 
“I want to go just as badly as you do. 
Bus, or maybe more so — but I can’t 
help feeling that there’s something 
screwy somewhere. Anyway, remember 
the last thing Worsel said, and let’s 
shut the door before we unsnap a sin- 
gle chain.” 

Then something clicked in the Lens- 
man’s mind. 

“Hypnotism, through Worsel!” he 
barked, opposition now aflame. “So 
gradual that it never occurred to me to 
build up a resistance. Holy rackets, 
what a fool I’ve been! Fight ’em. Bus 
— fight ’em! Don’t let ’em kid you any 
more, and pay no attention to anything 
Worsel sends at you !” Whirling around, 



67 

he leaped toward the open door of the 
tent. 

But as he leaped his brain was in- 
vaded by such a concentration of force 
that he fell flat upon the floor, physically 
out of control. He must not shut the 
door. He must release the Velantian. 
They must go to the Delgonian cavern. 
Fully aware now, however, of the source 
of the waves of compulsion, he threw 
the sum total of his mental power into 
an intense negation and struggled, inch- 
wise, toward the opening. 

UPON HIM NOW, in addition to 
the Delgonians’ compulsion, beat at 
point-blank range the full power of 
Worsel’s mighty mind, demanding re- 
lease and compliance. Also, and worse, 
he perceived that some powerful men- 
tality was being exerted to make Van- 
Buskirk kill him. One blow of the 
Valerian’s ponderous mace would shat- 
ter helmet and skull, and all would be 
over. Once more the Delgonians would 
have triumphed. But the stubborn 
Dutchman, although at the very verge 
of surrender, was still fighting. He 
would take one step forward, bludgeon 
poised aloft, only to throw it convul- 
sively backward. 

Again and again VanBuskirk re- 
peated his futile performance, while the 
Lensman struggled nearer and nearer 
the door. Finally, he reached it and 
kicked it shut. Instantly, the mental 
turmoil ceased and the two, white and 
shaking patrolmen released the limp, un- 
conscious Velantian from his bonds. 

“Wonder what we can do to help him 
revive,” gasped Kinnison. But his 
solicitude was unnecessary; the Velan- 
tian recovered consciousness as he 
spoke. 

“Thanks to your wonderful power of 
resistance, I am alive, unharmed, and 
know more of our foes and their meth- 
ods than any other of my race has ever 
learned,” Worsel thought, feelingly. 
“But it is of no value whatever unless 



€8 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



I can send it back to Velantia. The 
thought screen is carried only by the 
metal of these walls; and if I make an 
opening in the wall to think through, 
however small, it will now mean death. 
Of course, the science of your patrol has 
not perfected an apparatus to drive 
through such a screen.” 

“No. Anyway, it seems to me that 
we’d better be worrying about some- 
thing besides thought screens,” Kinni- 
son suggested. “Surely, now that they 
know where we are, they’ll be coming 
out here after us, and we haven’t got 
much of any defense.” 

“They don’t know where we are, or 
care ” began the Velantian. 

“Why not?” broke in VanBuskirk. 
“Any spy ray capable of such scanning 
as you showed us — I never saw any- 
thing like it before — would certainly 
be as easy to trace as an out-and-out 
gas blast!” 

“I sent out no spy ray or anything 
of the kind,” Worsel thought, carefully. 
“Since our science is so foreign to 
yours, I am not sure that I can explain 
satisfactorily, but I shall try to do so. 
First, as to what you saw. When that 
door is open, no barrier to thought 
exists. I merely broadcast a thought, 
placing myself en rapport with the Del- 
gonian Overlords in their retreat. This 
condition established, of course I heard 
and saw exactly what they heard and 
saw — and so, equally of course, did you, 
since you were also en rapport with me. 
That is all.” 

. “That’s all!” echoed VanBuskirk. 
“What a system! You can do a thing 
like that, without apparatus of any kind, 
and yet say ‘that’s all’!” 

“It is results that count,” Worsel re- 
minded him gently. “While it is true 
that we have done much — this is the 
first tinle in history that any Velantian 
has encountered the mind of a Del- 
gonian Overlord and lived. It is equally 
true that it was the will power of you 
patrolmen that made it possible, not 



my mentality. Also, • it remains true 
that we cannot leave this room and 
live.” 

“Why won’t we need weapons ?” 
asked Kinnison, returning to his previ- 
ous line of thought. 

“Thought screens are the only de- 
fense we will require,” Worsel stated, 
positively, “for they use no weapons 
except their minds. By mental power 
alone they make us Come to them; and, 
once there, their slaves do the rest. Of 
course, if my race is ever to rid the 
planet of them, we must employ offen- 
sive weapons of power. We have such, 
but we have never been able to use 
them. For, in order to locate the enemy, 
either by telepathy or by spy ray, we 
must open our metallic shields — and the 
instant we release those screens we are 
lost. From those conditions there is 
no escape,” Worsel concluded, hope- 
lessly. 

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Kinnison 
commanded. “There are a lot of things 
not tried yet. For instance, from what 
I have seen of your generator equip- 
ment and that screen, you don’t need a 
metallic conductor any more than a 
snake needs hips. Maybe I’m wrong, 
but I think we’re a bit ahead of you 
there. If a DeVilbiss projector can 
handle that screen — and I think it can, 
with special tuning — VanBuskirk and I 
can fix things in an hour so that all 
three of us can walk out of here in per- 
fect safety — from mental interference, at 
least. While we’re trying it out, tell 
us all the new stuff you got on them 
just now, and anything else that, by any 
possibility, may prove useful. And re- 
member you said this is the first time 
any of you had been able to cut them 
off. That fact ought to make them 
sit up and take notice. Probably they’ll 
stir around more than they ever did be- 
fore. Come on. Bus — let’s tear into it !” 

THE DeVilbiss projectors were 
rigged and tuned. Kinnison had been 



GALACTIC PATROL 



69 



right; they worked. Tlien plan after 
plan was made, only to be discarded as 
its weaknesses were pointed out. 

“Whichever way we look there are 
too many ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ to suit me,” 
Kinnison summed up the situation 
finally. “If we can find them, and if 
we can get up close to them without 
losing our minds to them, we could clean 
them out if we had some power in our 
accumulators. So I’d say the first thihg 
for us to do is to get our batteries 
charged. We saw some cities from the 
air, and cities always have power. Lead 



us to power, Worsel — almost any kind 
of power — and we’ll soon have it in 
our guns.” 

“There are cities, yes” — Worsel was 
not at all enthusiastic — “dwelling places 
of the ordinary Delgonians, the people 
you saw being eaten in the cavern of 
the Overlords. As you saw, they re- 
semble us Velantians to a certain extent. 
Since they are of a lower culture and 
are much weaker in life force than we 
are, however, the Overlords prefer us to 
their own slave races. 

“To visit any city of Delgon is out 




“Stop that radiating! Do not think at all it you cannot screen your 
mind,” came the mental command. 




70 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



of the question. Every inhabitant of 
every city is an abject slave and his 
brain is an open book. Whatever he 
sees, whatever he thinks, is communi- 
cated instantly to his master. And I 
now perceive that I may have misin- 
formed you as to the Overlords’ ability 
to use weapons. While the situation 
has never arisen, it is only logical to 
suppose that as soon as we are seen by 
any Delgonian the controllers will order 
all the inhabitants of the city to capture 
us and bring us to them.” 

"What a guy!” interjected VanBus- 
kirk. “Did you ever see his top for 
looking at the bright side of life?” 

"Only in conversation,” the Lensman 
replied. "When the ether gets crowded, 
you notice, he’s right in here, blasting 
away and not saying a word. But 
there’s one thing we haven’t thought of ; 
power. I’ve got only eight minutes 
of free flight left in my battery; and 
with your mass, you must be about out. 
Come to think of it, didn’t you land a 
trifle hard when we sat down here?” 
“Practically inert.” 

“That means we’ve got to get some 
power. Well, it’s not so bad, at that; 
there’s a city right close.” 

"Yes, but as far as I’m concerned it 
might as well be on Mars. You know 
as well as I do what’s between here and 
there. You can take my batteries and 
I’ll wait here.” 

"On your emergency food, water, and 
air? That’s out!” 

"What else, then?” 

"I can spread my field to cover all 
three of us,” proposed Kinnison. “That 
will give us at least one minute of free 
flight — almost, if not quite, enough to 
clear the jungle. They have night here ; 
and, like us, the Delgonians are night 
sleepers. We start at dusk, and to-night 
w*e recharge our batteries.” 

THE FOLLOWING HOUR, dur- 
ing which the huge, hot Sun dropped to 
the horizon, was spent in intense dis- 



cussion, but no significant improvement 
upon the Lensman’s plan could be de- 
vised. 

"It is time to go,” Worsel announced, 
curling out one extensile eye toward the 
vanishing orb. "I have recorded all my 
findings. Already I have lived longer 
and, through you, have accomplished 
more, than any one believed possible. 
I am ready to die. I should have been 
dead long since.” 

"Living on borrowed time’s a lot 
better than not living at all,” Kinnison 
replied, with a grin. “Link up. Ready ? 
Go!” 

He snapped his switches and the 
close-linked group of three shot into the 
air and away. As far as the eye could 
reach in any direction extended the 
sentient, ravenous growth of the jungle ; 
but Kinnison’s eyes were not upon that 
fantastically inimical green carpet. His 
whole attention was occupied by two 
all-important meters and by the task of 
so directing their flight as to gain the 
greatest possible horizontal distance 
with the power at his command. 

Fifty seconds of flashing flight, then: 
“All right, Worsel, get out in front and 
get ready to pull!” Kinnison snapped. 
“Ten seconds of drive left, but I can 
hold us free for five seconds after my 
driver quits. Pull !” 

Kinnison’s driver expired, its small 
accumulator completely exhausted ; and 
Worsel, with his mighty wings, took up 
the task of propulsion. Inertialess still, 
with Kinnison and VanBuskirk grasp- 
ing his tail, each beat a mile-long leap, 
he struggled on. But all too soon the 
battery powering the neutralizers also 
went dead and the three began to plum- 
met downward at a sharper and sharper 
angle, in spite of the Velantian’s Her- 
culean efforts to keep them aloft. 

Some distance ahead of them the 
green of the jungle ended in a sharply 
cut line, beyond which there was a 
heavy growth of fairly open forest. A 
couple of miles of this and there was 



GALACTIC PATROL 



the city, their objective — so near and 
yet so far! 

“We’ll either just make the timber or 
we just won’t,” Kinnison, mentally 
plotting the course, announced dispas- 
sionately. “Just as well if we land in 
the jungle, I think. It’ll break our fall, 
anyway; and hitting solid ground inert 
at this speed might be pretty serious.” 

“If we land in the jungle we will 
never leave it” — Worsel’s thought did 
not slow the incredible tempo of his 
prodigious pinions — “but it makes lit- 
tle difference whether I die now or 
later.” 

“It does to us, you pessimistic 
croaker!” flared Kinnison. “Forget 
that dying complex of yours for a min- 
ute! Remember the plan and follow 
it! We’re going to strike the jungle, 
about ninety or a hundred meters in. 
If you come in with us you die at once, 
and the rest of our scheme is all shot 
to pieces. So when we let go, you 
go ahead and land in the woods. We’ll 
join you there, never fear; our armor 
will hold long enough for us to cut our 
way through a hundred meters of any 
jungle that ever grew — even this one. 
Get ready, Bus. Leggo!” 

THEY DROPPED. Through the 
lush succulence of close-packed upper 
leaves and tentacles they crashed — 
through the heavier, wooded main 
branches below, through to the ground. 
And there they fought for their lives; 
for those voracious plants nourished 
themselves not only upon the soil in 
which their roots were embedded, but 
also upon anything organic unlucky 
enough to come within reach. Flabby 
but tough tentacles encircled them ; 
ghastly sucking disks, exuding a potent 
corrosive, slobbered wetly at their 
armor; knobbed and spiky bludgeons 
whanged against tempered steel as the 
monstrous organisms began dimly to 
realize that these particular titbits were 



71 

encased in something more resistant far 
than skin, scales, or bark. 

But the Lensman and his giant com- 
panion were not quiescent. They came 
down oriented and fighting. Van- 
Buskirk, in the van, swung his frightful 
space ax as a reaper swings hjs scythe 
• — one solid, short step forward with 
each swing. And close behind the 
Valerian strode Kinnison, his own fly- 
ing ax guarding the giant’s head and 
back. 

Masses of that obscene vegetation 
crashed down upon their heads from 
above, revolting cupped orifices suck- 
ing and smacking ; and they were show- 
ered continually with floods of the 
opaque, corrosive sap to the action of 
which even their armor was not en- 
tirely immune. But, hampered as they 
were and almost blinded, they struggled 
indomitably on ; while behind them an 
ever-lengthening corridor of demolition 
marked their progress. 

“Ain’t we got fun?” grunted the 
Dutchman, in time with his swing. “But 
we’re quite a team at that, chief — brains 
and brawn, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” dissented Kinnison, his fly- 
ing weapon a solid disk of steel to the 
eye. “Grace and poise ; or, if you want 
to be really romantic, ham and eggs.” 

“Rack and ruin will be more like it 
if we don’t break out before this con- 
founded goo eats through our armor. 
But we’re making it — the stuff’s thin- 
ning out and I think I can see trees up 
ahead.” 

“It is well if you can,” came a cold, 
clear thought from Worsel, “for I am 
sorely beset. Hasten or I perish!” 

At that thought the two patrolmen 
forged ahead in a burst of furious 
activity. Crashing through the thinning 
barriers of the jungle’s edge, they 
wiped their lenses partially clear, 
glanced quickly about, and saw the 
Velantian. That worthy was “sorely 
beset” indeed. Six animals — huge, 
reptilian, but lithe and active — had him 



72 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



down. So helplessly immobile was 
Worsel that he could scarcely move his 
tail, and the monsters were already be- 
ginning to gnaw at hi^ scaly, armored 
hide. 

“I’ll put a stop to that, Worsel !’’ 
called Knnison, referring to the fact, 
well known to all us modernsj that any 
real animal, no matter how savage, can 
be controlled by any wearer of the Lens. 
For, no matter how low in the scale of 
intelligence the animal is, the Lensman 
can get in touch with whatever mind 
the creature has and reason with it. 

But these monstrosities, as Kinnison 
learned immediately, were not really 
animals. Even though of animal form 
and mobility, they were purely vege- 
table in motivation and behavior, re- 
acting only to the stimuli of food and 
of reproduction. Weirdly and com- 
pletely inimical to all other forms of 
created life, they were so utterly noi- 
some, so completely alien that the full 
power of mind and Lens failed entirely 
to gain rapport 

UPON that confusedly writhing heap 
the patrolmen flung themselves, terrible 
axes destructively a-swing. In turn, 
they were attacked viciously; but this 
battle was not long to endure. Van- 
Buskirk’s first terrific blow knocked one 
adversary away, almost spinning end 
over end. Kinnison took out one, the 
Dutchman another, and the remaining 
three were no match at all for the 
humiliated and furiously raging Velan- 
tian. But it was not until the monstrosi- 
ties had been gruesomely carved and 
torn apart, literally limb from hideous 
limb, that they ceased their insensately 
voracious attacks. 

“They took me by surprise,” ex- 
plained Worsel, unnecessarily, as the 
three made their way through the night 
toward their goal, “and six of them at 
once were too much for me. I tried 
to hold their minds, but apparently they 
have none.” 



“How about the Overlords?” asked 
Kinnison. “Suppose they have received 
any of our thoughts? We patrolmen at 
least have been doing a lot of un- 
guarded radiating lately.” 

“No,” Worsel made positive reply. 
“The thought screen batteries, while 
small and of very little actual power, 
have, nevertheless, a very long service 
life. Now let us again go over the next 
steps of our plan of action.” 

Since no more untoward events 
marred their progress toward the Del- 
gonian city, they soon reached it. It 
was for the most part dark and quiet, 
its somber buildings merely blacker 
blobs against a background of black. 
Here and there, however, were to be 
seen automotive vehicles moving about, 
and the three invaders crouched against 
a convenient wall, wating for one to 
come along the “street” in which they 
were. Eventually one did. 

As it passed them Worsel sprang into 
headlong, gliding flight, Kinnison’s 
heavy knife in one gnarled fist. And 
as he sailed he struck — lethally. Before 
that luckless Delgonian’s brain could 
radiate a single thought it was in no 
condition to function at all ; for the head 
containing it was bouncing in the gut- 
ter. Worsel backed the peculiar con- 
veyance along the curb and his two 
companions leaped into it, lying flat 
upon its floor and covering themselves 
from sight as best they could. 

Worsel, familiar with things Delgon- 
ian and looking enough like a native 
of the planet to pass a casual inspec- 
tion in the dark, drove the car. Streets 
and thoroughfares he traversed at reck- 
less speed, finally drawing up before a 
long, low building, entirely dark. He 
scanned his surroundings with care, in 
every direction. Not a creature was in 
sight. 

"All is clear, friends,” he thoxight, 
and the three adventurers sprang to the 
building’s entrance. The door — it had 
a door, of sorts — was locked, but Van- 



GALACTIC PATROL 



73 



Buskirk’s ax made short work of that 
difficulty. Inside, they braced the 
wrecked door against intrusion. Then 
Worsel led the way into the unlighted 
interior. Soon he flashed his lamp 
about him and stepped upon a black, 
peculiarly marked tile set into the floor ; 
whereupon a harsh, white light illu- 
minated the room. 

“Cut it, before somebody takes 
alarm!” snapped Kinnison. 

“No danger of that,” replied the 
Velantian. “There are no windows in 
any of these rooms: no light can be 
seen from outside. This is the control 
room of the city’s power plant. If you 
can convert any of this power to your 
uses, help yourselves to it. In this 
building is also Delgon’s closest approxi- 
mation to a munitions plant. Whether 
or not anything in it can be of service 
to you is, of course, for you to say. I 
am now at your disposal.” 

While the Velantian was thinking 
these things Kinnison had been study- 
ing the panels and instruments. Now 
he and VanBuskirk tore open their 
armor — they had already learned that 
the atmosphere of Delgon, while not as 
wholesome for them as that in their 
suits, would, for a time at least, sup- 
port human life — and wrought diligently 
with pliers, screw drivers, and other 
tools of the electrician. Soon their ex- 
hausted batteries were upon the floor 
beneath the instrument panel, greedily 
absorbing the electrical fluid from the 
busbars of the Delgonians. 

“Now, while they’re getting filled up, 
let’s see what they mean by ‘muniticMis’ 
in these parts,” Kinnison ordered. 
“Lead on, Worsel!” 

VII. 

WITH WORSEL in the lead, the 
three interlopers hastened along a corri- 
dor, past branching and intersecting 
hallways, to a distant wing of the struc- 
ture. There, it was evident, manufac- 



turing of weapons was carried on; but 
a quick study of the queer-looking de- 
vices and mechanisms upon the benches 
and inside the storage racks lining its 
walls convinced Kinnison that the room 
could yield them nothing of permanent 
benefit. There were high-powered 
beam projectors, it was true; but they 
were so heavy that they were not even 
semiportable. There were also hand 
weapons of various peculiar patterns, 
but without exception they were 
ridiculously inferior to the DeLameters 
of the patrol in every respect of power, 
range, controllability, and storage capac- 
ity. Nevertheless, after testing them 
out sufficiently to make certain of the 
above findings, Kinnison selected an 
armful of the most powerful models and 
turned to his companions. 

“Let’s go back to the power room,” 
he urged. “I’m nervous as a cat. I 
feel stark naked without my batteries ; 
and if any one should happen to drop 
in there and do away with them, we’d be 
sunk without a trace.” 

Loaded down with Delgonian weap- 
ons, they hurried back the way they had 
come. Much to Kinnison’s relief he 
found that his forebodings had been 
groundless ; the batteries were still there, 
still absorbing myriawatt hour after 
myriawatt hour from the Delgonian 
generators. Staring fixedly at the 
innocuous-looking containers, he 
frowned in thought. 

“Better we insulate those leads a little 
heavier and put the cans back in our 
armor,” he suggested finally. “They’ll 
charge' just as well in place, and it 
doesn’t stand to reason that this drain of 
power ean go on for the rest of the 
night without somebody noticing it. 
And when that happens those Over- 
lords are bound to take plenty of steps 
— the nature of none of which we can 
even guess at.” 

“We must have power enough now 
so that we can all fly away from any 
possible trouble,” Worsel suggested. 



74 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



“But that’s just exactly what we are 
not going to do !” Kinnison declared, 
with finality. "Now that we’ve found a 
good charger, we aren’t going to leave 
it until our accumulators are chocka- 
block. It’s coming in faster than full 
draft will take it out, and we’re going 
to get a full charge if we have to stand 
off all the vermin of Delgon to do it.” 

Far longer than Kinnison had 
thought possible they were unmolested, 
but finally a couple of Delgonian engi- 
neers came to investigate the unpre- 
cedented shortage in the output of their 
completely automatic generators. At 
the entrance they were stopped, for no 
ordinary tools could force the barricade 
VanBuskirk had erected behind that 
portal. With leveled weapons the pa- 
trolmen stood, awaiting the expected 
attack. But none developed. Hour 
by hour the long night wore away, un- 
eventfully. At daybreak, however, a 
storming party appeared and massive 
battering-rams were brought into play. 

As the dull, heavy concussions rever- 
berated throughout the building the pa- 
trolmen each picked up two of the 
we^wns piled before them and Kinnison 
addressed the Velantian. 

“Drag a couple of those metal benches 
across that corner and coil up behind 
them,” he directed. “They’ll be enough 
to ground any stray charges. If they 
can't see you they won’t know you’re 
here, so probably nothing much will 
come your way direct.” 

The Velantian demurred, declaring 
that he would not hide while his two 
companions were fighting his battle. 

But Kinnison silenced him fiercely. 
"Don’t be a fool !” the Lensman snapped. 
"One of these beams would fry you to 
a crisp in ten seconds, whereas the de- 
fensive fields of our armor could neu- 
tralize a thousand of them, from now 
on. Do as I say, and do it quick, or 
I’ll beam you unconscious and toss you 
in there myself!” 



REALIZING that Kinnison meant 
exactly what he said, and knowing that, 
unarmored as he was, he was utterly 
unable to resist either the Tellurian or 
their common foe, Worsel unwillingly 
erected his metallic barrier and coiled 
his sinuous length behind it. He hid 
himself just in time. 

The outer barricade had fallen, and 
now a wave of reptilian forms flooded 
into the control room. Nor was this any 
ordinary investigation. The Overlords 
had studied the situation from afar, and 
this wave was one of heavily armed — 
for Delgon — soldiery. On they came, 
projectors fiercely aflame, confident in 
their belief that nothing could stand be- 
fore their blasts. 

But how wrong they were I The two 
repulsively erect bipeds before them 
neither burned nor fell. Beams, no mat- 
ter how powerful, did not reach them. 

Nor were these outlandish beings in- 
offensive. Utterly careless of the service 
life of the pitifully weak Delgonian pro- 
jectors, they were using them at max- 
imum drain and at extreme aperture — 
and in the resultant beams the Delgonian 
soldier slaves fell in scorched and smok- 
ing heaps. On came reserves, platoon 
after platoon, only and continuously to 
meet the same fate ; for as soon as one 
projector weakened the invincibly arm- 
ored man would toss it aside and pick 
up another. But finally the last com- 
mandeered weapon was exhausted and 
the beleaguered pair brought their own 
DeLameters — ^the most powerful porta- 
ble weapons known to the military 
scientists of the Galactic Patrol — into 
play. 

And what a difference! In those 
beams the attacking reptiles did not 
smoke or burn. They simply vanished 
in a blaze of flaming light, so did also 
the near-by walls and a good share of 
the building beyond! The Delgonian 
hordes having disappeared, VanBuskirk 
shut off his DeLameter. 

Kinnison, however, left his on, an- 



GALACTIC PATROL 



75 




Inertialess as be was, 
the buffetings of the 
Velantian affected him 

not at all Then he 

simply expanded his 
thought screen 



gling its beam sharply upward, blasting 
into fiery vapor the ceiling and roof 
over their heads, remarking : “While 
we’re at it we might as well fix things 
so that we can make a quick get-away if 
we want to.” 

Then they waited. Waited, watching 
the needles of their meters creep ever 
closer to the “full-charge” marks ; waited 
while, as they shrewdly suspected, the 
distant, cowardly hiding Overlords 
planned some other, more promising 
line of physical attack. 

Nor was it long in developing. An- 
other small army appeared, armored 



this time; or, more accurately, advanc- 
ing behind metallic shields. Knowing 
what to expect, Kinnison was not sur- 
prised when the beam of his DeLameter 
not only failed to pierce one of those 
shields, but did not in any way impede 
the progress of the Delgonian column. 

“Well, we’re all done here, anyway, 
as far as I’m concerned.” Kinnison 
grinned at the Dutchman as he spoke. 
“My cans’ve been showing full back 
pressure for the last five minutes. How 
about yours?” 

“Same here,” VanBuskirk reported, 
and the two leaped lightly into the 



76 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Velanfian’s refuge. Then, inertialess 
all, the three shot into the air at such 
a pace that to the slow senses of the 
Delgonian slaves they simply disap- 
peared. Indeed, it was not until the 
barrier had been blasted away and 
every room, nook, and cranny of the 
immense structure had been literally 
and minutely combed that the Delgon- 
ians — and through their enslaved minds 
the Overlords — ^became convinced that 
their prey had in some uncanny and un- 
known fashion eluded them. 

NOW high in the air, the three troop- 
ers traversed, in a matter of minutes, 
the same distance that had cost them 
so much time and strife the day before. 
Over the monster-infected forest they 
sped, over the deceptively peaceful 
green lushness of the jungle, to slant 
down toward Worsel’s thoughtproof 
tent. Inside that refuge they snapped 
off their thought screens and Kinnison 
yawned prodigiously. 

"Working days and nights both is all 
right for a while, but it gets monotonous 
in time. Since this seems to be the 
only really safe spot on the planet, I 
suggest that we take a day or so off and 
catch up on our eats and sleeps.” 

They slept and ate; slept and ate 
again. 

"The next thing on the program,” 
Kinnison announced then, “is to clean 
out that den of Overlords. Then Wor- 
sel will be free to help us get going 
about our own business.” 

“You speak lightly indeed of the im- 
possible,” Worsel, again all glum de- 
■ spondency, reproved him. "I have 
already explained why the task is, and 
must remain, beyond our power.” 

"Yes, but you don’t quite grasp the 
possibilities of the stuff we’ve got to 
work with now,” the Tellurian replied. 
"Listen: you could never do anything 
because you couldn’t ' see through or 
work through your thought screens. 



Neither we nor you could,' even now, 
enslave a Delgonian and make him lead 
us to the cavern, because the Overlords 
would know all about it ’way ahead of 
time and the slave would lead us any- 
where else except to the cavern. How- 
ever, one of us can cut his screen and 
surrender ; possibly keeping just enough 
screen up to keep the enemy from pos- 
sessing his mind fully enough to learn 
that the other two are coming along. 
The big question is — which of us is to 
surrender ?” 

“That is already decided,” Worsel 
made instant reply. “I am the logical 
— in fact, the only one — ^to do it. Not 
only would they think it perfectly natu- 
ral that they should overpower me, 
but also I am the only one of us three 
sufficiently able to control his thoughts 
so as to keep from them the knowledge 
that I am being accompanied. Further- 
more, you both know that it would not 
be good for your minds, , unaccustomed 
as they are to the practice, to surrender 
their control voluntarily to an enemy.” 

"I’ll say it wouldn’t!” Kinnison 
agreed, feelingly. “I might do it if I 
had to, but I wouldn’t like it and don’t 
think I’d ever quite get over it. I hate 
to put such a horrible job off onto you, 
Worsel, but you’re undoubtedly the best 
equipped to handle it — and even you 
may have your hands full.” 

"Yes,” the Velantian said, thought- 
fully. “While the undertaking is no 
longer an absolute'^ impossibility, it is 
difficult — very. In any event you will 
probably have to beam me yourselves, 
if we succeed in reaching the cavern. 
The Overlords will see to that. If so, 
do it without regret. Know that I ex- 
pect it and am well content to die in 
that fashion. Thousands of better men 
than I am would be only too glad to be 
in my place, meaning what it does to 
all Velantia. Know also that I have 
already reported what is to occur, and 
that your welcome to Velantia is as- 



GALACTIC PATROL 



77 



sured, whether or not I accompany you 
there.” 

“I don’t think I’ll have to kill you, 
Worsel,” Kinnison replied, slowly, pic- 
turing in detail exactly what that steel- 
hard reptilian body would be capable of 
doing when, unshackled, its directing 
mind was completely taken over by an 
utterly soulless and conscienceless 
Overlord. “If we can’t keep from 
going off the deep end, of course you’ll 
get pretty tough and I know that you’re 
hard to handle. However, as I told you 
back there, I think I can beam you un- 
conscious without killing you. I may 
have to burn off a few scales, but I’ll 
try not to do any damage that can’t be 
repaired.” 

“If you can so stop me it will be won- 
derful indeed. Are we ready?” 

They were ready. Worsel opened 
the door and in a moment was hurtling 
through the air, his giant wings arrow- 
ing him along at a pace no winged crea- 
ture of Earth would even approach. 
And, following him easily at a little dis- 
tance, floated the two patrolmen upon 
their inertialess drives. 

DURING that long flight scarcely a 
thought was exchanged, even between 
Kinnison and VanBuskirk. To direct 
a thought at the Velantian was, of 
course, out of the question. All lines 
of communication with him had been 
cut; and, furthermore, his mind, able 
as it was, was being taxed to the ulti- 
mate cell in doing what he had set out 
to do. And the two patrolmen were 
reluctant to converse with each other, 
even upon their tight beams, radios, or 
sounders, for fear that some slight 
leakage of thought energy might re- 
veah their presence to the ever- watchful 
Overlords. If this opportunity were 
lost, they knew, another chance to wipe 
out that hellish horde might never pre- 
sent itself. 

Land was traversed, and sea; but 



finally a stupendous range of mountains 
reared before them and Worsel, folding 
back his tireless wings, shot downward 
in a screaming, full-weight dive. In his 
line of flight Kinnison saw the mouth 
of a cave, a darker spot of blackness in 
the black rock of the mountain’s side. 
Upon the ledged approach there lay a 
Delgonian — a guard or lookout, of 
course. 

The Lensman’s DeLameter was al- 
ready in his hand, and at sight of the 
guardian reptile he sighted and fired in 
one incredibly fast motion. But, rapid 
as it was, it was still too slow. The 
Overlords had seen that the Velantian 
had companions of whom he had been 
able to keep them in ignorance there- 
tofore. 

Instantly, Worsel’s wings again began 
to beat, bearing him off at a wide angle ; 
and, although the patrolmen were in- 
sulated against his thought, the meaning 
of his antics was very plain. He was 
telling them in every possible way that 
the hole below was not the cavern of 
the Overlords, that it was over this 
way, that they were to keep on 
following him to it. Then, as they re- 
fused to follow him, he rushed upon 
Kinnison in mad attack. 

“Beam him down, Kim !” VanBuskirk 
yelled. “Don’t take any chances with 
that bird!” He leveled his own De- 
Lameter. 

“Lay off, Bus!” the Lensman 
snapped. “I can handle him — a lot 
easier out here than on the ground.” 

And so it proved. Inertialess as he 
was, the buffetings of the Velantian af- 
fected him not at all; and when Worsel 
coiled his supple body around him and 
began to apply pressure, Kinnison 
simply expanded his thought screen to 
cover them both, thus releasing the mind 
of his temporarily inimical friend from 
the Overlord’s grip. Instantly the 
Velantian became himself, snapped on 
his own shield, and the three continued, 



78 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



as one, their interrupted downward 
course. 

Worsel came to a halt upon the ledge, 
beside the practically incinerated corpse 
of the lookout, knowing, unarmored as 
he was, that to go farther meant sud- 
den death. The armored pair, however, 
shot on into the gloomy passage. At 
first they were ofifered no opposition. 
The Overlords had had no time to mus- 
ter an adequate defense. Scattering 
handfuls of slaves rushed them, only to 
be blasted out of existence as their hand 
weapons proved useless against the 
armor of the Galactic Patrol. Defenders 
became more numerous as the cavern 
itself was approached ; but neither were 
they allowed to stay the patrolmen’s 
progress. Finally, a palely shimmering 
barrier of metal appeared to bar their 
way. Its fields of force neutralized or 
absorbed the blasts of the DeLameters, 
but its material substance offered but 
little resistance to a thirty-pound sledge 
swung by one of the strongest men ever 
produced by any planet colonized by the 
humanity of Earth. 

NOW they were in the cavern itself 
— the sanctum sanctorum of the Over- 
lords of Delgon. There was the hellish 
torture screen, with its burden of men- 
tal and physical pain. There was the 
horribly avid audience, now milling 
about in a mob frenzy of panic. There, 
upon a raised balcony, were the “big 
shots” of this nauseous clan ; now doing 
their utmost to marshal some force able 
to cope effectively with this unheard-of 
violation of their age-old immunity. 

A last wave of Delgonian slaves 
hurled themselves forward, futile pro- 
jectors furiously aflame, only to dis- 
appear in the DeLameters’ fans of force. 
The patrolmen hated to kill those mind- 
less slaves, but it was a nasty job that 
had to be done. The slaves out of the 
way, those ravening beams bored on into 
the massed Overlords. 



And now Kinnison and VanBuskirk 
killed, if not joyously, at least relent- 
lessly, mercilessly, and with neither 
sign nor sensation of compunction. For 
this unbelievably mon.strous tribe 
needed killing, root and branch. Not a 
scion or shoot of it should be allowed 
to survive, to continue to contaminate 
the civilization of the galaxy. Back 
and forth, to and fro, up and down swept 
the raging beams of the DeLameters, 
playing on until in all the vast volume 
of that gruesome chamber nothing lived 
save the two grim figures in its portal. 

Assured of this fact, but with De- 
Lameters still in hand, the two de- 
stroyers retraced their way to the tun- 
nel’s mouth, where Worsel anxiously 
awaited them. Lines of communication 
again established, Kinnison informed 
the Velantian of all that had taken place, 
and the latter gradually cut down the 
power of his thought screen. Soon it 
was at zero strength and he reported 
jubilantly that for the first time in un- 
told ages, the Overlords of Delgon were 
off the air! 

“But surely the danger isn’t over 
yet!” protested Kinnison. “We 
couldn’t have got them all in this one 
raid. Some of them must have escaped, 
and there must be other dens of them 
on this planet somewhere?” 

“Possibly; possibly.” The Velantian 
waved his tail airily — the first sign of 
joyousness he had shown. “But their 
power is broken, definitely and forever. 
With these new screens, and with the 
arms and armament which, thanks to 
you, we can now fabricate, the task of 
wiping them out completely will be com- 
paratively simple. Now you will ac- 
company me to Velantia where, I as- 
sure, the resources of the planet will be 
put solidly behind you in your own en- 
deavors. I have already summoned a 
space ship. In less than twelve days we 
will be back in Velantia and at work 
upon your projects. In the mean- 
time ” 



GALACTIC PATROL 



79 



“Twelve days! Holy jumping rock- 
ets!” VanBuskirk exploded. 

Kinnison said, “Sure — you forget 
that they knew nothing of our free drive. 
We’d better hop over and get our life- 
boat, I think. It’s not so good, either 
way, but in our own boat we’ll be open 
to detection less than two hours, as 
against twelve days in the Velantians’. 
And the pirates may be here any min- 
ute. It’s as good as certain that their 
ship will be stopped and searched long 
before it gets back to Velantia, and if 
we were aboard it would be just too 
bad.” 

“And, since the crew knows about 
us, the pirates soon will, and it’ll be just 
too bad, anyway,” VanBuskirk reasoned. 

“Not at all,” interposed Worsel. “The 
few of my people who know of you 
have been instructed to seal that knowl- 
edge. I must admit, however, that I 
am greatly disturbed by your concep- 
tions of these pirates of space. You 
see, until I met you I knew nothing more 
of the pirates than I did of your patrol.” 

“What a world!” VanBuskirk ex- 
claimed. “No patrol and no pirates! 
But at that, life might be simpler with- 
out both of them and without the free 
space drive — more like it used to be in 
the good old airplane days that the novel- 
ists rave about.” 

“Of course, I could not judge as to 
that.” The Velantian was very serious. 
“This in which we live seems to be an 
out-of-the-way section of the galaxy ; 
or it may be that we have nothing that 
the pirates want.” 

“More likely it’s simply that, like the 
patrol, they haven’t got organized into 
this district yet,” suggested Kinnison. 
“There are so many millions of solar 
systems in the galaxy that it will prob- 
ably lie thousands of years yet before the 
patrol gets into them all.” 

“But about these pirates,” Worsel 
went back to his point. “If they have 
such minds as those of the Overlords, 



they will be able to break the seals of 
our minds. However, I gather from 
your thoughts that their minds are not 
of that strength?” 

“Not so far as I know,” Kinnison re- 
plied. “You folks have the most 
powerful brains I ever heard of, short 
of the Arisians. And speaking of mental 
power, you can hear thoughts a lot 
farther than I can, even with my Lens 
or with this pirate receiver I’ve got. 
See if you can find out whether there 
are any pirates in space around here, 
will you?” 

WHILE the Velantian was concen- 
trating, VanBuskirk asked: “Why, if 

his mind is so strong, could the Over- 
lords put him under so much easier than 
they could us ‘weak-minded’ humans?” 

“You are confusing ‘mind’ with ‘will,’ 
I think. Ages of submission to the 
Overlords made the Velantians’ will 
power zero, as far as the bosses were 
concerned. On the other hand, you and 
I could raise stubbornness to sell to 
most people. In fact, if the Overlords 
had succeeded in really breaking us 
down, back there, I believe that we 
would have been insane for the rest of 
our lives.” 

“Probably you’re right. We break, 
but don’t bend, huh?” 

Then the Velantian was ready to re- 
port. “I have scanned space to the 
nearer stars — some eleven of your light 
years — and have encountered no intrud- 
ing entities,” he announced. 

“Eleven light years — what a range!” 
Kinnison exclaimed. “However, that’s 
only a shade over two minutes for a 
pirate ship at full blast. But we’ve got 
to take a chance sometime, and the 
quicker we get started the sooner we’ll 
get back. We’ll pick you up here, Wor- 
sel. No use in you going back to your 
tent — we’ll be back here long before you 
could reach it. You’ll be safe enough, 
I think, especially with our spare De- 



80 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Lameters. Let’s get going, Bus!” 

Again they shot into the air; again 
they traversed the airless depths of 
interplanetary space. To locate the 
temporary tomb of their lifeboat re- 
quired only a few minutes, to disinter 
her only a few more. Then again they 
braved detection in the void; Kinnison 
tense at his controls, VanBuskirk in 
strained attention listening to and star- 
ing at his unscramblers and detectors. 
But the ether was still blank as they 
materialized in an inertialess landing be- 
side the waiting Velantian. 

“All right, Worsel, snap it up!” 
Kinnison called, and went on to Van- 
Buskirk, “Now, you big, flat-footed 
Valerian space hound, I hope that that 
spaceman’s god of yours will see to it 
that our luck holds good for just seven 
minutes more. We’ve had more luck 
already than we had any right to expect, 
but we can put a little more to most 
gosh-awful good use !” 

“Noshabkeming does bring spacemen 
luck,” insisted the giant, grimacing a 
peculiar salute toward a small, golden 
image set inside his helmet, “and the 
fact that you warty, runty little space 
fleas of Tellus haven’t got sense enough 
to know it, doesn’t change matters at 
all.” 

“That’s tellin’ ’em. Bus!” Kinnison 
applauded. “But if it helps charge your 
batteries, go to it. Ready to blast! 
Lift !” 

The Velantian had come aboard; the 
tiny air lock was again tight, and the 
little vessel shot away from Delgon to- 
ward far Velantia. And still the ether 
remained empty as far as the detectors 
could reach. Nor was this fact sur- 
prising, in spite of the Lensman’s fears 
to the contrary; for the patrolmen had 
given the pirates such an extremely 
long line to cover that many days must 
yet elapse before the minions of Boskone 
would get aroimd to visit that unim- 
portant, unexplored, and almost un- 
known solar system. 



EN ROUTE to his home planet Wor» 
sel got in touch with the crew of the 
Velantian vessel already in space, or- 
dering them to return to port posthaste 
and instructing them in detail what to 
think and how to act should they be 
stopped and searched by one of Bosk- 
one’s raiders. By the time these in- 
structions had been given, Velantia 
loomed large beneath the flying midget. 
Then, with Worsel as guide, Kinnison 
drove over a mighty ocean upon whose 
opposite shore lay the great city in 
which Worsel lived. 

“But I would like to have them wel- 
come you as befits what you have done, 
and have you go to the dome !” mourned 
the Velantian. “Think of it ! You have 
done a thing which for ages the massed 
power of the planet has been trying 
vainly to accomplish, and yet you in- 
sist that I alone take full and complete 
credit for it !” 

“I don’t insist on any such thing,” 
argued Kinnison, “even though it’s 
practically all yours, anyway. I insist 
only on your keeping us and the patrol 
out of it, and you know as well as I 
do why you’ve got to do that. Tell 
them anything else you want to. Say 
that a couple of pink-haired Chickla- 
dorians helped you and then beat it back 
home. That planet’s far enough away 
so that if the pirates chase them they’ll 
get a real run for their money. After 
this blows over you can tell the truth — 
but not until then. 

“And as for us going to the dome for 
a grand hocus-pocus, that is completely 
and definitely out. We’re not going any- 
where except to the biggest space yard 
you’ve got. You’re not going to give 
us anything except a lot of material and 
a lot of highly trained help that can keep 
their thoughts sealed. 

“We’ve got to build a lot of heavy 
stuff fast ; and we’ve got to get started 
on it just as quickly as the gods of space 
will let us !” 



GALACTIC PATROL 



81 



VIII. 

WORSEL knew his council of scien- 
tists, as well he might, since it developed 
that he himself ranked high in that select 
circle. True to his promises, the largest 
space port of the planet was immediately 
emptied of its customary personnel, 
which was replaced the following morn- 
ing by an entirely new group of work- 
men. 

Nor were these replacements ordinary 
laborers. They were young, keen, and 
highly trained, taken, to a man, from 
behind the thought screens of the scien- 
tists. It is true that they had no ink- 
ling of what they were to do, since none 
of them had ever dreamed of the possi- 
bility of such engines as they were to be 
called upon to construct. 

But, upon the other hand, they were 
well versed in the fundamental theories 
and operations of mathematics, and from 
pure mathematics to applied mechanics 
is but a step. Furthermore, they had 
brains — knew how to think logically, 
coherently, and effectively, and needed 
neither driving nor supervision— only 
instruction. And best of all, practically 
every one of the required mechanisms 
already existed, in miniature, within the 
Brittania’s lifeboat, ready at hand for 
their dissection, analysis, and enlarge- 
ment. It was not lack of understand- 
ing which was to slow up the work; 
it was simply that the planet did not 
boast machine tools and equipment 
large enough or strong enough to han- 
dle the necessarily huge and heavy parts 
and members required. 

While the construction of this heavy 
machinery was being rushed through, 
Kinnison and VanBuskirk devoted 
their efforts to the fabrication of an 
ultra-sensitive receiver, tunable to the 
pirates’ scrambled wave bands. With 
their exactly detailed knowledge, and 
with the cleverest technicians and the 
choicest equipment of Velantia at their 
disposal, the set was soon completed. 

AST--6 



Kinnison was giving its exceedingly 
delicate coils their final alignment when 
Worsel wriggled blithely into the radio 
laboratory. 

“Hi, Kimball Kinnison of the Lens!” 
he called gayly. Throwing some twenty 
feet of his serpent’s body in lightning 
loops about a convenient pillar, he made 
a horizontal bar of the rest of himself 
and dropped one wing tip to the floor. 
Then, nonchalantly upside down, he 
thrust out three or four eyes and curled 
their stalks over the Lensmen’s shoul- 
der, the better to inspect the results of 
the mechanics’ efforts. Gone was the 
morose, pessimistic, death-haunted Wor- 
sel who had wrought and fought beside 
tiie armored pair upon fantastically 
inimical Delgon. This was a new Wor- 
sel entirely; gay, happy, carefree, and 
actually frolicsome — if you can image 
a thirty-foot-long, crocodile-headed, 
leather-winged python as being frolic- 
some I 

“Hi, your royal snakeship I” Kinnison 
retorted in kind. “Still here, huh? 
Thought you’d be back on Delgon by 
this time, cleaning up the rest of that 
mess.” 

“The equipment is not ready, but 
there’s no hurry about that.” The 
playful reptile unwrapped ten or twelve 
feet of tail from the pillar and waved 
it airily about. “Their power is bro- 
ken ; their race is done. You are about 
to try out the new receiver?” 

“Yes — going out after them right 
now.” Kinnison began deftly to 
manipulate the micrometric verniers of 
his dials. 

EYES fixed upon meters and gauges, 
he listened — listened — increased his 
power and listened again. More and 
more power he applied to his apparatus, 
listening continually. Suddenly he stiff- 
ened, his hands becoming rock-still. He 
listened, if possible even more intently 
tlian before; and as he listened his face 



82 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



grew grim and granite-hard. Then the 
micrometers began again, crawlingly, to 
move, as though he were tracing a beam. 

“Bus ! Hook on the focusing beam 
antenna!” he snapped. “It’s going to 
take every milliwatt of power w'e’ve got 
in this hook-up to tap his beam, but I 
think that I’ve got Helmuth direct, in- 
stead of through a pirate-ship relay!” 
Again and again he checked the read- 
ings of his dials and of the directors of 
his antenna; each time noting the exact 
time of the Velantian day. 

“There! As soon as we get some 
time, Worsel, I’d like to work out these 
figures with some of your astronomers. 
They’ll give me a right line through to 
Helmuth’s headquarters — I hope. Some 
day, if I’m spared. I’ll get another!” 
“What kind of news did you get?” 
asked V’anBushkirk. 

“Good and bad both,” replied the 
Lensman. “Good in that Helmuth 
doesn’t believe that we stayed with his 
ship as long as w'e did. He’s a suspi- 
cious devil, you know, and is pretty well 
convinced that we tried to run the same 
kind of a blazer on him that we did the 
other time. Since he hasn’t got enough 
ships on the job to work the whole line, 
he’s concentrating on the other end. 
That means that we’ve got plenty of 
days left. The bad part of it is that 
they’ve got four of our boats already 
and are bound to get more. Lord, how 
I wish I could call the rest of them! 
Some of them could certainly make it 
here before they got caught.” 

“Might I then offer a suggestion?” 
asked Worsel, suddenly diffident. 

“Surely!” the Lensman replied in sur- 
prise. “Your ideas have never been 
any kind of poppycock. Why so bashful 
all at once?” 

“Because this one is so — ah — so pe- 
culiarly personal, since you men regard 
so highly the privacy of your minds. 
Our two sciences, as you have already 
observed, are vastly different. You are 



far beyond us in mechanics, physics, 
chemistry, and the other applied sci- 
ences. We, on the other hand, have 
delved much deeper than have you into 
psychology and the other introspective 
studies. For that reason I know posi- 
tively that the Lens you wear is capable 
of enormously greater things than you 
are at present able to perform. Of 
course, I cannot use your Lens directly, 
since it is attuned to your own ego. 
However, if the idea appeals to you, I 
could, with your consent, occupy your 
mind and use your Lens to put you en 
rapport with your fellows. I have not 
volunteered the suggestion before be- 
cause I know how averse your mind is 
to any foreign control.” 

“Not necessarily to foreign control,” 
Klnnison corrected him. “Only to 
enemy control. The idea of friendly 
control never occurred to me. That 
would be an entirely different breed of 
cats. Go to it !” 

KINNISON relaxed his mind com- 
pletely, and that of the Velantian came 
welling in, wave upon friendly, surging 
wave of benevolent power. And not 
only — or not precisely — power. It was 
more than power; it was a calm, cool, 
placid certainty, a depth and clarity of 
perception that Kinnison in his most 
cogent moments had never dreamed a 
possibility. The possessor of that mind 
knew things, cameo-clear in microscopic 
detail, which the keenest minds of Earth 
could perceive only as chaotically indis- 
tinct masses of mental light and shade, 
of no recognizable pattern whatever! 

“Give me the thought pattern of him 
with whom you wish first to converse,” 
came Worsel’s thought, this time from 
deep within the Lensman’s own brain. 

Kinnison felt a subtle thrill of uneasi- 
ness at that new and ultra-strange dual 
personality, but thought back steadily, 
“Sorry— I can’t.” 

“Excuse me, I should have known 



GALACTIC PATROL 



83 



that you cannot think in our patterns. 
Think, then, of him as a person — an 
individual. That will give me, I believe, 
sufficient data.” 

Into the Earthman’s mind there 
leaped a picture of Henderson, sharp 
and clear. He felt his Lens actually 
tingle and throb as a concentration of 
vital force such as he had never known 
poured through his whole being and into 
that almost-living creation of the Aris- 
ians, and immediately thereafter he was 
in full mental communication with the 
chief pilot of the ill-fated Brittania! 
And there, seated across the tiny mess 
table of their lifeboat, was Thorndyke, 
the master technician. 

Henderson came to his feet with a yell 
as the telepathic message bombarded 
into his brain, and it required several 
seconds to convince him that he was not 
the victim of space insanity or suffering 
from any other form of hallucination. 
Once convinced, however, he acted. His 
lifeboat shot toward far Velantia at 
maximum blast. 

Then: “Ndson! Allerdyce! Thomp- 
son ! Jenkins ! Uhlenhuth ! Smith ! 

Chat way ” Kinnison called the roll 

of the survivors. 

Nelson, the Brittania’s communica- 
tions officer, answered his captain’s call. 
So did Allerdyce, the juggling quarter- 
master. So did Uhlenhuth, a techni- 
cian. So did those in three other boats. 
Two of these three were apparently 
well within the danger zone, and might 
get nipped in their dash, but their crews 
elected without hesitation to take the 
chance. Four boats, it was already 
known, had been captured by the pirates. 
The remaining eight were either so dis- 
tant as to be out of range of even the 
Worsel-driven Lens, or they had been 
taken by pirates who had not yet re- 
ported to Helmuth. 

"Eight out of twenty,” Kinnison 
mused. "Not so good, but it could have 
been a lot worse. They might very well 



have taken us all by this time.” 

Then he turned to the Velantian, who 
had withdrawn his mind as soon as its 
task was done. "Thanks, Worsel,” he 
said simply. "Some of those lads com- 
ing in have got plenty of just what it 
takes, and how we can use them !” 

ONE BY ONE the lifeboats of the 
Brittania came into port, where their 
crews were welcomed briefly, but feel- 
ingly, before they were put to work. 
Nelson, the communications officer, 
among the last to arrive, was to the 
Lensman particularly welcome. 

"Nels, we need you badly,” Kinnison 
informed him as soon as greetings had 
been exchanged. “The pirates have a 
beam, carrying a peculiarly scrambled 
wave that they can receive and decode 
through any kind of ordinary blanket- 
ing interference, and you’re the best 
man of us all to study their system. 
Some of these Velantian scientists carv 
probably help you a lot on that — any 
race that can develop a screen against 
thought figures to know more than 
somewhat about vibration in general. 
We’ve got working models of tbe pi- 
rates’ instruments, so that you can figure 
out their patterns and formulas. That 
ought be simple. 

"When you’ve done that, I want you 
and your Velantians to design some- 
thing that will scramble all the pirates’ 
communicator beams in space, from here 
to the near rim of the galaxy. If you 
can fix things so that they can’t talk, 
any more than we can, it’ll help a lot, 
believe me!” 

"QX, chief, we’ll give it the works.” 
And the radio man called for tools, 
apparatus and electricians. 

Then throughout the great space port 
the many Velantians and the handful of 
patrolmen labored mightily, side by side, 
and to very good effect indeed. Slowly, 
the port became ringed about by, and 
studded everywhere with monstrous 



84 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



mechanisms. Everywhere there were 
projectors: refractoiy-throated demons 
ready to vomit forth every force known 
to the expert technicians of the patrol. 
There were absorbers, too, backed by 
their bleeder resistors, air gaps, ground 
rods, and racks for discharged accumu- 
lators. There, too, were receptors and 
converters for the cosmic energy which 
was to empower many of the devices. 
There were, of course, atomic motor 
generators by the score, and battery 
upon battery of gigantic accumulators. 
And Nelson’s high-powered scrambler 
was ready to go to work. 

These machines appeared crude, 
rough, unfinished ; for neither time nor 
labor had been wasted upon nonessen- 
tials. But inside each one the moving 
parts fitted with micrometric accuracy 
and with hair-spring balance. All, 
without exception, functioned perfectly. 

At Worsel’s call, Kinnison climbed up 
out of a great beamproof pit, the top of 
whose wall was practically composed of 
tractor-beam projectors. Pausing only 
to make sure that a sticking switch on 
one of the screen-doom generators had 
been replaced, he hurried to the heavily 
armored control room, where his little 
force of fellow patrolmen awaited him. 

“They're coming, boys.” he an- 
nounced. “You all know what to do. 
There are a lot more things that we 
could have done if we’d had more time, 
but as it is we’ll just go to work on them 
with what we’ve got.” And Kinnison, 
again all brisk captain, bent over his 
instruments. 

In the ordinary course of events the 
pirate would have flashed up to the 
planet with spy rays out and issuing a 
peremptory demand for the planet to 
show a clean bill of health or to surren- 
der instantly such fugitives as might 
lately have landed upon it. But Kinni- 
son did not — could not — wait for that. 
The spy rays, he knew, would reveal 
the presence of his armament ; and such 



armament most certainly did not belong 
to this planet. Therefore, the instant 
that the pirate ship came within range 
of his detectors he acted ; and forthwith 
everything happened at once, with furi- 
ous swiftness. 

A tracer lashed out, the pilot ray of 
the rim battery of extraordinarily 
powerful tractors. Under the urge of 
those beams the inertialess ship flashed 
toward their center of action, which was 
the geometrical center of the space port’s 
deep rayproof pit. At the same moment 
Nelson’s scrambler burst into activity, a 
dome-screen against cosmic-energy in- 
take, and a full circle of superpowered 
attacking rays. 

ALL THESE THINGS occurred in 
the twinkling of an eye, and the vessel 
was being slowed down by the atmos- 
phere of Velantia before her startled 
corrimander could even realize that he 
was being attacked. Only the presence 
of automatically reacting defensive 
screens saved that ship from instant de- 
struction; but they did so save it and 
in seconds the pirates’ every weapon was 
furiously ablaze. 

In v'ain. The defenses of that pit 
could take it. They were driven by 
mechanisms easily able to absorb the out- 
put of any equipment mountable upon a 
mobile base, and to his consternation 
the pirate found that his cosmic-energy 
intake was at, and remained at, zero. 
He sent out call after call for help, 
but could not make contact with any 
other pirate station. Ether and sub- 
ether alike were closed to him; his sig- 
nals were blanketed completely. Nor 
could his drivers, even though operating 
at ruinous overload, move him from the 
geometrical center of that incandescently 
flaming pit, so inconceivably rigid were 
the tractors’ clamps upon him. 

And soon his power began to fail. 
His vessel, designed to operate unon 
cosmic-energy intake, carried mly 



GALACTIC PATROL 



85 



enough accumulators for stabilization of 
power flow, an amount ridiculously in- 
adequate for a combat as profligate of 
energy as this. But, strangely enough, 
as his defense weakened, so lessened the 
power of the attack. It was no part of 
the Lensman’s plan to destroy .this 
superdreadnaught of the void. 

“That was one good thing about the 
old Brittania,” he gritted as he cut down, 
step by step, the power of his beams, 
“nobody could block her off from what 
power she had!” 

Soon the stored -up energy of the bat- 
tleship was exhausted and she lay there, 
quiescent. Then giant pressers went 
into action and she was lifted over the 
wall of the pit, to settle down in an 
open space beside it — open, but still 
under the domes of force. 

Kinnison had no needle rays as yet, 
the time at his disposal having been 
sufficient only for the construction of 
the absolutely essential items of equip- 
ment. Now, while he was debating with 
his fellows as to what part of the vessel 
to destroy in order to wipe out its crew, 
the pirates themselves ended the debate. 
Ports yawned in the vessel’s armored 
side and they came out fighting. 

For they were not a breed to die like 
rats in a trap, and they knew that to 
remain inside their vessel was to die 
whenever and however their captors 
willed. They knew also that die they 
must if they could not conquer. Their 
surrender, even ii it should be accepted, 
would mean only a somewhat later death 
in the lethal chambers of the law. In 
the open, they could at least take some 
of their foes with them. 

Furthermore, not being men as we 
know men, they had nothing in common 
with either human beings or Velantians. 
Both of them were vermin, as they 
themselves were to the beings manning 
this surprisingly impregnable fortress 
here in this waste corner of the galaxy. 
Therefore, space-hardened veterans all, 



they fought, with the insane ferocity and 
desperation of the ultimately last stand; 
but they did not conquer.. Instead, and 
to the last man, they died. 

AS SOON AS the battlfe was over, 
before the interference blanketing the pi- 
rates’ communicators was cut off, Kinni- 
son went through the captured vessel, 
destroying the headquarters visiplates 
and every automatic sender which could 
transmit any kind of a message to any 
pirate base. 

Then the interference was stopped; 
the domes were released; the ship was 
removed from the field of operations. 
Then, while Thorndyke and his reptilian 
aides — themselves now radio experts of 
no mean attainments — busied themselves 
at installing a high-powered scrambler 
aboard her, Kinnison and Worsel 
scanned- space in search of more prey. 
Soon they found it, more distant than 
the first one had been — two solar sys- 
tems away — and in an entirely different 
direction. Tracers and tractors and in- 
terference and domes of force again be- 
came the order of the day. Projectors 
again raved out in their incandescent 
might, and soon another immense crui- 
ser of the void lay beside her sister ship. 
Another and another; then, for a long 
time, space was blank. 

The Lensman then energized his 
ultra-receiver, pointing his antenna care- 
fully into the galactic line to Helmuth’s 
base, as laid down for him by the Velan- 
tian astronomers. Again, so tight and 
hard was Helmuth’s beam, he had to 
drive his apparatus so unmercifully that 
the tube noise almost drowned out the 
signals, but again he was rewarded by 
hearing faintly the voice of the pirate 
director of operations. 

“ — four vessels, all within or near one 
of those five solar systems, have ceased 
communicating ; each cessation being 
accompanied by a period of blanketing 
interference of a pattern never before 



86 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



registered. You two vessels who are 
receiving these orders are instructed to 
investigate that region with the utmost 
care. Go with screens out and every- 
thing on the trips, and with automatic 
recorders set on me here. 

“It is not believed that the patrol has 
anything to do with this, as ability has 
been shown transcending anything it has 
been known to possess. As a working 
hypothesis it is assumed that one of 
those solar systems, hitherto practically 
unexplored and unknown, is, in reality, 
the seat of a highly advanced race, which 
perhaps has taken offense at the attitude 
or conduct of our first ship to visit 
them. Therefore, proceed with extreme 
caution, with a thorough spy-ray search 
at extreme range before approaching at 
all. If you land, use tact and diplomacy 
instead of the customary tactics. Find 
out whether our ships and crews have 
been destroyed, or are only being held. 
And remember, automatic reporters on 
at all times. Helmuth, speaking for 
Boskone — off !” 

For minutes Kinnison manipulated 
his micrometer in vain. He could not 
get another sound. 

“What are you trying to get, Kim?” 
asked Thorndyke. “Wasn’t that 
enough?” The message had been re- 
broadcast to the minds of the others by 
Worsel, as fast as it had entered the 
Lensman’s ears. 

“No, that’s only half of it,” Kinnison 
returned. “Helmuth’s nobody’s fool. 
He’s certainly trying to plot the bound- 
aries of our interference, and I want 
to see how he’s coming out with it. 
But no dice. He’s so far away and his 
beam’s so hard that I can’t work him 
unless he happens to be talking almost 
directly toward us. Well, it won’t be 
long now until we’ll give him some real 
interference to plot. Now we’ll see 
what we can do about those two other 
ships that are heading this way. On 
your toes, everybody.” 



CAREFULLY as those two ships in- 
vestigated, and sedulously, as they 
sought to obey Helmuth’s instructions, 
all their precautions amounted to exactly 
nothing. As ordered, they began a spy- 
ray survey at extreme range; but even 
at that range Kinnison’s tracers were 
effective and those two ships also ceased 
communicating in a blaze of interfer- 
ence. Then recent history repeated it- 
self. The details were changed some- 
what, since there were two vessels in- 
stead of one; but the pit was of ample 
size to accommodate two ships, and the 
tractors could hold two as well and as 
rigidly as one. The conflict was a little 
longer, the beaming a little hotter and 
more coruscant, but the ending was the 
same. Scramblers were quickly in- 
stalled and Kinnison addressed his men, 
already in the ships. 

“Well, we’re about ready to shove off 
again. Running away has worked twice 
so far, with very good results — once in 
the old Brittania, and once in the pirate’s 
own ships. It should work again, if we 
can ring in enough variations on the 
theme to keep Helmuth guessing a while 
longer. Maybe, if the supply of pirate 
ships keeps up, we’ll be able to make 
Helmuth furnish us transportation all 
the way back to base! 

“Here’s the idea. We’ve got six 
ships, and there’s enough of us to drive 
them. Some of the younger Velantiams 
have joined us, in spite of the fact that 
I’ve told them the chances are against 
them ■ ever getting back. Enough of 
them, in fact, to make up almost full 
crews of us all. But six ships isn’t 
enough of a squadron to fight through 
the fleets that Helmuth will have or- 
ganized if we go in a body. So we’ll 
spread out radially, covering thousands 
of parsecs before we get halfway to base, 
and broadcasting every watt of inter- 
ference we can put out all along the way, 
in as many different shapes and powers 
as our apparatus will permit. We can’t 
talk to each other, of course, but nothing 



GALACTIC PATROL 



else can talk anywhere in the same sec- 
tor of the galaxy, either, and that will 
give us the edge. Each ship will be on 
its own, as we were before in the boats ; 
the big difference being that we’ll be in 
superdreadnaughts instead of lifeboats. 

“Now, Worsel, if the pirates check 
up and follow the disturtence we are 
going to make they won’t bother you 
folks at all. In fact, if they ever succeed 
in finding the center of that interference 
there will be nothing there except empty 
space. But if they don’t follow us — 
and Helmuth is apt to insist upon a 
thorough study of this region before he 
does anything else — ^you folks are due 
for an inspection ; and the next inspec- 
tion will mean a real battle instead of 
a slaughter. The first spy ray will re- 
veal this stuff here. But I don’t suppose 
you want to hide it or destroy it?” 

“We do not,” the Velantian replied, 
positively. “Let them come, in what- 
ever force they care to bring. The more 
that attack here, the less there will be 
to halt your progress. This armament 
represents the best of that possessed by 



87 ' 

both your patrol and the pirates, with 
improvements developed by your scien- 
tists and ours in full codjjeration. We 
understand thoroughly its construction, 
operation, and maintenance. You may 
rest assured that the pirates will never 
levy tribute upon us, and that any pirate 
visiting this system will remain in it, 
permanently !” 

“ ’At-a-snake, Worsel — long may you 
wiggle !” Kinnison exclaimed. Then, 
more seriously, “Maybe, after this is all 
over. I’ll see you again sometime. If 
not, good-by. Good-by, all Velantia! 
All set, boys? Clear ether and light 
landings to you all ! Blast off!” 

Six ships, once pirate craft, now ves- 
sels of the Galactic Patrol, hurled them- 
selves into and through Velantian air, 
into and through interplanetary space, 
out into the larger, wider, more unob- 
structed emptiness of the interstellar 
void. Six, each broadcasting with 
prodigious power and volume an all-in- 
clusive interference through which no 
pirate communicator or visiray beam 
could possibly be driven ! 



(to be continued.) 



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A MENACE IN 

Nothing could appear more 
harmless than those eddying 
dust motes — yet 

by Raymond Z. Gallun 



M acDowd looked as though he 
was about ready to crack. His 
face was like molded chalk 
behind the transparent curve of his 
oxygen helmet. The pupils of his eyes 
were dilated with fear that was close to 
hysteria, as he gazed from a port of the 
conning tower and out across the deso- 
late expanse where the space ship was 
grounded. 

“Paxtonia is just another name for 
hell!” he whined into his ether phone, 
addressing his two companions. “It’s 
just a broken piece of an inhabited world 
that exploded maybe ten billion years 
ago ! It was shot away from that 
world’s parent star! Why did it have 
to wander into our solar system, and 
establish itself in an orbit around our 
sun? Nothing could live on it except 
- the spirit of death ! 

“That’s w'hat it must be — the spirit 
of death ! Those ships that blew up 

when they got too close to Paxtonia 

Some smart people think that mayl)e 
there’s an intelligent agent here who 
did that by exploding the old-type rocket 
fuel. But there’s nothing here that any- 
body can find, except the ruins of build- 
ings and machines, and a lot of empty 
silence! Still, a week ago there were 
twelve men in this expedition — and now 
there are only three of us left alive. 
Please! There isn’t any sense in our 
staying on Paxtonia! We’ve got to 
get out of this devil’s paradise — at 
once !” 

“Shut up, MacDowd!” Pilot A1 



Kerny, big and bearlike and brave, but 
not possessing the mental keenness of a 
scientist, growled emphatically. “You 
joined this outfit of your own free will, 
to help do a job that’s got to be done! 
Until we find out what makes Paxtonia 
so dangerous, and until some way is 
figured out to combat this condition, no 
space ships that come into this vicinity 
will be safe, in spite of the new, and 
less easily detonated, rocket fuel. Our 
lives don’t balance against thousands of 
other lives. Dr. Rolf and you and I are 
sticking, MacDowd!” 

Dr. Kurt Rolf, wispy old savant, and 
since the passing of his superiors, chief 
of the Montridge expedition, was about 
to add a few words of his own to Ker- 
ny’s fierce declarations, when tragedy 
was repeated. 

MacDowd gave an anguished start. 
He gasped, and his gloved hands 
clutched and clawed at the chest plates 
of his space suit. Then he slumped to 
the floor of the conning tower. 

As in the case of previous tragedies, 
there hadn’t been the slightest visible 
or audible warning of the approach of 
danger. But when Kerny and Rolf bent 
over the crumpled body, it was a corpse. 
MacDowd was the tenth victim of the 
unknown, the incomprehensible. 

For a moment A1 Kerny’s massive 
form seemed to wilt with weariness and 
discouragement. His head sagged for- 
ward inside his helmet, as he looked out 
over the plain on which the space ship 
rested. Paxtonia, which, when it was 



MINIATURE 




drifting into the solar system, an 
astronomer named Paxton had discov- 
ered with his telescope, was shaped like 
a crude wedge, or like a bomb frag- 
ment. The plain was the top of the 
wedge, and was a segment of the sur- 



face of the world that had been shat- 
tered. 

Its airless expanse was crusted with 
utterly dry loam, baked and gray under 
the merciless sun of the void. Here were 
visible the remnants ©f ancient vegeta- 



90 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



tion. And Kemy could see, here, things 
which would have thrilled the heart of 
any archaeologist — vast, broken domes 
of hewn stone, which might once have 
imprisoned air and water in their in- 
teriors, and gigantic, moveless engines 
and machines — all of them belonging to 
an age of incredible antiquity. 

ON THE DOMES, carved in bas- 
relief, were many representations of the 
people who had created all these won- 
ders. The carven figures stood erect, 
like men, but they were very slender 
auid attenuated. Their eyes, set in 
their triangular heads, were large and 
protruding. But like the things around 
them, the members of this graven host 
were lifeless and incapable of inflicting 
harm — impassive denials of the fact that 
somewhere among the debris of a 
wrecked civilization there was a malefic 
something that seemed to possess the 
powers of black magic. 

“I’m sorry, MacDowd,” Kerny mut- 
tered to the corpse. “I guess you were 
right. We shoutd have got out of here. 
Even wearing space suits all the time 
doesn’t seem to help. We ’’ 

Dr. Rolf gripped Kerny’s arm in sud- 
den realization. “A1 !” he cried harshly, 
and the small radios, or ether phones, by 
which spacemen communicate when 
sealed in vacuum armor, transmitted his 
voice to his companion. “Observe that 
gauge, please! The air pressure — it is 
falling! They — it — whatever the cause 
of so much murder may be — has invaded 
the ship — pierced a slight opening in the 
hull, somehow ! It is not that the air is 
leaking out that should worry us, for 
there is plenty in the reserve drums. It 
is that the unknown threat is here, 
around us and invisible, at this very in- 
stant doubtless making ready to strike 
us down ! MacDowd was the first man 
to die inside the ship. That is additional 
proof!’’ 

“Shall we leave Paxtonia, then?” 
Kerny questioned anxiously. 



The scientist’s thin face was working 
with emotion. He yanked a proton pis- 
tol from the belt around his bulky attire, 
and sent a blue cone of flame belching 
from its maw. 

“No!” he shouted, as he continued 
to battle the unseen foe which he knew 
was near. “There is not a chance to do 
that! It is doubtful that we could even 
get the ship into space before we were 
killed. We must stay and try to think 

of a plan! The war turret ahead 

We must go there and lock ourselves 
inside! There’s ten-inch dural steel on 
roof and floor and walls. If the hidden 
ones can bore through the hull of the 
ship they can doubtless penetrate that 
armor, too, but doing so will doubtless 
take considerable time.” 

A1 Kerny, big and powerful, was not 
capable of the intricate thinking and de- 
liberate action which characterizes some 
men. Yet his mind could work with 
lightning rapidity, and his responses 
were swift and cool. What his more 
erudite companion had just said 
brought him realization. 

The things he did now he seemed to 
do all at once, efficiently and without 
lost motion. He jerked his proton pis- 
tol from his holster, and, emulating Rolf, 
sent its fiery cone spraying and bobbing 
in every direction. 

At the same time he stooped and 
jerked the body of MacDowd, which had 
little weight here on tiny Paxtonia, up 
under one arm. To this burden he 
added a chest, about a yard long and 
two feet broad, which had reposed on 
a steel rack over the intricate control 
mechanisms of the space ship. 

Dr. Rolf and he rushed from the con- 
ning tower and along a corridor which 
led to the war turret forward, with their 
proton pistols active. What narrow es- 
capes they had in their flight to this re- 
fuge, they could not have observed or 
guessed. Inside the turret, they swung 
the ponderous, air-tight door shut and 
worked the locking mechanism. 



A MENACE IN MINIATURE 



91 



HERE all was heavy, tomblike quiet, 
which seemed to magnify the throb of 
their speeding pulses. A great rocket- 
torpedo projector, ugly and capable 
when pitted against a tangible foe, 
gleamed slumberously before the sealed 
firing port in the curved wall. Bars of 
sunshine, slanting from small bull’s-eye 
windows, armored with ten-inch glass 
almost as hard as diamond and as tough 
as Damascus steel, made golden paths 
through the dust floating in the air. 

Nothing could appear more harmless 
than those lazily eddying motes ; yet at 
sight of them both Rolf and Kerny were 
gripped by a vague, cold suspicion that 
among those specks might drift the 
instruments of sudden, ghastly extinc- 
tion. How could one be sure that, dur- 
ing the instant that the massive door 
was open, the impalpable essence of 
death had not slipped through, into the 
war turret? 

The two men, possessed of the same 
thought, which had come to them both 
by a process of parallel reasoning, acted 
in an identical manner. Their proton 
beams flared out, lashing the dust parti- 
cles into violent motion, and reducing 
them to fragments too fine to be visible, 
even if magnified a thousand diameters. 
The entire atmosphere within the war 
turret was submitted to the sterilizing 
action of the beams. Any living thing 
in the paths of the protonic storms from 
the pistols, must surely have been de- 
stroyed. 

“Perhaps for the present we are safe,” 
Kurt Rolf panted in his usual stilted 
manner of speech. "We must have 
missed by only a very little the same 
fate that came to MacDowd.” 

A1 Kerny had lowered the chest he 
carried, and the body of MacDowd, to 
the floor. Together, he and his com- 
panion stripped the space suit and cloth- 
ing from the corpse. Except for a tiny 
hole, which must have been made by 
something much finer than a needle, the 
vacuum armor was intact. This punc- 



ture penetrated the heavy metal chest 
plating of the suit. 

MacDowd’s flesh was livid. There 
was a minute, reddish pin prick over 
his heart. That was all. He had died 
as had the others before him. Delicate 
tests of the blood of previous victims had 
revealed the nature of the killing agent. 
It was a protein poison related to the 
venom of snakes, though many times 
more virulent. But beyond that, except 
for the vague evidences of punctured 
armor and flesh, there was nothing 
tangible to work on in an effort to solve 
the mystery of Paxtonia. From these 
sketchy hints little could be concluded 
except that some weapon, unseen be- 
cause of its smallness, was involved, that 
it was under intelligent control, and 
that the purpose of that intelligence was 
hostile. 

THE TWO MEN looked at each 
other. Both were aware that they were 
prisoners aboard their own ship, for to 
venture out of the war turret was to 
court instant death. For a time, pro- 
tected by the thick and terrifically stout 
turret armor as they were, they were 
safe ; but they felt sure that not to 
make active use of that time would be 
fatal. The Paxtonian menace had 
doubtless spent days digging surrepti- 
tiously through the hull of the ship, and 
progress would be slower against the 
turret shell. Nevertheless, once a 
small, and not easily discoverable hole 
had been driven through it, subtle in- 
visibility could be relied upon to defeat, 
in the end, whatever protection proton 
pistols might provide. 

Rolf and Kerny could not safely 
reach the radio room at the rear of the 
conning tower to send out an S O S 
call, even if to do so would accomplish 
any good. It would be pointless to sig- 
nal a puny freight or passenger craft, 
and even a war rocket would be almost 
helpless. Now that the invisible foe was 
much more on the alert than it had been 



92 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



at the time of the Montridge expedi- 
tion’s arrival, dozens of men from a war 
rocket might be killed in trying to effect 
a rescue. 

“Well?” said Dr. Rolf at last. The 
tone of the word was enough to show 
that, for the moment at least, he was 
in doubt as to what might be done. 

A1 Kerny had an opportunity now to 
explain the scheme of which he had 
thought. He glanced at the chest rest- 
ing beside MacDowd’s body, and then 
back at Rolf. 

The big pilot spoke hesitantly, for he 
knew his limits where the higher brack- 
ets of science and mechanics were con- 
cerned. 

“I believe you’ll agree with me. 
Doc,” he began, “that it’s almost certain 
that what made those tiny wounds in 
MacDowd and the rest of the men were 
some kind of solid objects — ^poisoned 
projectiles so small that they’re out of 
sight. The thing to do is to get down 
to their level of smallness, magnify them 
so we can fight them in their own size 
plane and thus spoil their advantage. 
That way we’ll be able to tell what they 
are and what’s running them!” 

“Yes indeed!” Rolf commented sar- 
castically. “But how are we to ‘get 
down to their level of smallness’? A 
microscope, you will say, is the answer, 
and perhaps an ultra-sensitive micro- 
phone. But have not both been tried 
without results ? Did not Professor 
Montridge even probe the pin-prick 
wounds of the first victims, only to find 
nothing? We could never examine all 
the air in this ship with a microscope. 
Ending what we seek, that way, would 
be like finding one special grain of sand 
on a beach! Nor are our best micro- 
phones delicate enough to pick up what- 
ever sounds the— the danger here might 
make!” Kurt Rolf’s tone was bitter. 

“You don’t understand,” said A1 
Kerny. “Wait!” 

He stood the chest up on end and 
opened its front. Within was tlte intri- 



cate switchboard of a radio-robot con- 
trol. There was a radio-vision screen 
here, by means of which the operator 
could see what the mechanical eyes of 
the robot saw. And there was a dia- 
phragm which would reproduce in 
amplified form the sounds heard by its 
mechanical ears. More intricate were 
the keyboard controls, the visible por- 
tion of which resembled the keyboard, 
of a typewriter. By manipulating prop- 
erly the banked rows of keys here, one 
transmitted radio impulses into the 
ether, which, when received by the 
robot, were translated into the desired 
action of its various limbs and parts. 

From a small box inside the chest — 
carefully lined with felt, like a jewel 
casket — A1 Kerny took a minute 
mechanism. Pie held it in his glove 
palm. The mechanism looked like a 
beetle made of metal. Its length was 
only about a quarter of an inch ; but it 
had legs like a living beetle. It was 
provided with a tiny rocket, and a 
gravity screen, like a space ship. More- 
over, it possessed a pair of appendages 
meant for grasping and handling. 
These were fitted with metal fingers 
finer than human hair. 

THE DEVICE was a micro-robot, 
or, if the trade name was to be used, a 
Scarab. The task of constructing such 
a tiny and incredibly intricate fabrica- 
tion was a matter involving infinite 
skill, patience and precision. The most 
powerful microscopes had to be used, 
and the most delicate of tools. The 
nervous waver of a finger, during the 
process, was enough to ruin much of 
the fragile workmanship that had so 
far been completed. 

However, in spite of all the difficul- 
ties of their manufacture. Scarabs, or 
micro-robots, had proved very useful 
since their invention. First, because 
they could go almost anywhere and spy 
on almost any activity; they had been 
employed in detective work. But their 



A MENACE IN MINIATURE 



93 



utility had since broadened into other 
fields. Mechanics inspected the not 
easily accessible interiors of great en- 
gines with them, and they were of 
value in scores of other ways. No ex- 
pedition to a strange place would have 
felt itself adequately equipp>ed, unless it 
possessed a micro-robot. 

A1 Kerny held the tiny miracle where 
Dr. Kurt Rolf could see it. “Maybe 
I’m crazy, Doc,’’ he said hesitantly. 
“But I’m a kind of optimist.” 

“I do not grasp at all what you mean,” 
Rolf stated in puzzlement. “We have 
used the Scarab to explore the deep 
crevices of Paxtonia. Professor Mont- 
ridge worked its controls on the first 
day, before he was killed. Then there 
were others — Ted Rose, Boris Andriev 
— both dead now — and myself. We 
learned nothing of what it is that makes 
Paxtonia dangerous. The Scarab, small 
though it is, is not small enough to deal 
with the unknown.” 

“Agreed,” Kemy admitted. “But 
look! You’re smart that way. You 
know all about these micro-robots. If 
you could make another one, the size of 
a grain of sand, it should be able to see 
just what the menace is!” 

Rolf gave a start of sheer consterna- 
tion. For once his intellectual face 
looked almost stupid. It was seconds 
before he could manage to speak. 

“Splendid,” he croaked feebly. 
“That is, if it was possible. How could 
you expect me — any one — ^to build a 
Scarab no bigger than a sand grain? 
Are you ” 

“Insane?” Kerny questioned with a 
mild grin. “Well, I suggested that I 
might be. But you haven’t got all of 
my idea yet, Doc. I don’t mean that 
you should construct this ultra-micro- 
robot with your own fingers, of course 
— at least not directly. I mean that you 
should manipulate the robot control, 
making our Scarab do the work. In the 
television screen you would see the 
magnified images of what its eyes saw. 



As far as vision and handling goes, the 
whole size scale would be raised, so 
that the job would be almost like work- 
ing with stuff of the usual dimensions.” 

Again Rolf registered extreme sur- 
prise, as the boldness of the idea struck 
home. But when he spoke once more, 
his voice was calm. Inspiration had 
been given to him; and now, in his 
methodical way, he was testing it men- 
tally, to discover whether or not it was 
sound and practical. 

“Substance,” he mused. “You would 
think that the parts of a machine so very 
small would break under the strain of 
their mere operation. But no, that is 
not true. The strength of material, in 
proportion to size, increases as size is 
diminished. This scientific fact is easy 
to demonstrate: Under Earthly gravi- 
tational conditions, a lump of soft putty 
a foot in diameter will flatten with its 
own weight if set on a solid surface; 
while a lump of the same putty, if only 
an inch in diameter, will not flatten.” 

ROLF was silent for a moment. 
Then fierce eagerness gripped him. “It 
is a magnificent thought, A1 Kemy!” 
he shouted. “We will make use of it! 
Or, anyway, we will try to make use 
of it! Under more favorable circum- 
stances I could really do it justice, by 
working — how should I say? — in steps 
downward. With the Scarab as big as a 
beetle, I could make a Scarab as big as 
a sand grain. This second Scarab could 
build a miniature of itself, as big as a 
dust grain. The third Scarab could con- 
struct a fourth, bearing the same pro- 
portions as the first to the second, or the 
second to the third. And so on, down, 
to the limit imposed by the ultimate indi- 
visibility of the atoms themselves! 

“The only difficulty would be in 
maintaining radio control of the smaller 
Scarabs — the waves they would emit 
and respond to would be so very fine 
and faint! But I think this obstacle 
could be surmounted in steps — upward 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



'94 

r 

and down! A large radio transmitter 
would send its signals to a small re- 
ceiver, to which was attached a trans- 
mitter of the same size scale. This 
second transmitter would contact a still 
smaller receiver. And so the relaying 
process would continue, using finer and 
finer impulses all the time. Upward 
the process would work just as well, 
a small transmitter contacting a larger, 
though sufficiently sensitive, receiver. 
The radios, which are part of each 
Scarab, in both diminishing and increas- 
ing order of size, would complete the 



chain. Thus I might be able to ex- 
plore a truly miniature environment, in 
which the most minute microbes would 
appear as colossal monsters!” 

“Hold on!” Kerny advised, to check 
the scientist’s hurtling thoughts, and to 
keep them within the bounds of prac- 
tical necessity. “Most likely the build- 
ing of one Scarab of sand-grain dimen- 
sions will be a tough enough job for 
now.” 

Rolf’s expression sobered. “Yes,” he 
mumbled in realization. “A tough job. 
There is great need for hurry, and so 




It was startling to think of craft of such smallness as being possibU 



A MENACE IN MINIATURE 



95 



much to do, and so much care to be 
exercised ! Almost everything must be 
made from scratch, so to speak — even 
many of the tools for our present 
Scarab. Then it must devise wires al- 
most as fine as the cilia of a microbe, and 
tiny electromagnets and photo-electric 
cells, and lens of microscopic size, not 
to mention scores of other things as 
intricate ! But from the complete set of 
spare parts, available in the supply com- 
partment of the chest here for the repair 
of any breakdown of our present 
Scarab, we can at least draw the neces- 
sary substances : steel foil and floss, cop- 
per, sodium, tantalum, tungsten, quartz, 
and so forth. And we have the little 
atomic repair furnace to supply heat.” 

“Then your job starts now. Doc,” 
said Kemy. ‘Tm sorry I can’t help 
you much.” 

His words were mild and apologetic. 
But his feelings were loaded with stark, 
burning lust for vengeance against the 
nameless horror that had murdered his 
friends. 

Kurt Rolf nodded grimly and took 
the Scarab from Kerny’s hand, replac- 
ing it, for the moment, in its felt-lined 
box. 

The two men removed their cumber- 
some space suits, which they had worn 
as a now evidently futile guard against 
the danger of the menace. They could 
breathe here in the sealed turret, since 
all rooms aboard space craft have in- 
dividual air purifiers. One never knows 
what chamber may need to serve as a 
refuge for the survivors of an accident 
of the void. Likewise, each room is 
provided with bottled water and a sup- 
ply of concentrated rations. 

Rolf inspected the Scarab, started its 
minute atomic motor. Kerny disposed 
of MacDowd’s body by locking it in 
the torpedo compartment, which ad- 
joined, and formed a unit with, the tur- 
ret. Next he collected the materials 
and articles necessary for the coming 
task, and placed them on a portion of 



the floor which his companion indicated. 
In the midst of this outlay the scientist 
set his tiny, mechanical proxy. 

Then he crouched down before the 
robot control and began to manipulate 
its keyboard. The Scarab went, to work. 

PAXTONIA, the jagged, baneful 
fragment of an ancient and mighty 
world, tumbled around on its axis. 
Night and day succeeded each other, 
each built of tense, dragging hours. A 
race was in progress, a race between 
Rolf, constructing an ultra-micro-robot, 
and whatever it was, that, if given time, 
must surely find its way into the turret 
room, with fatal results to its human 
occupants and failure on their part to 
solve Paxtonia’s ghastly riddle. 

One night, Kemy, peering sternward 
from the turret windows, noticed a new 
and weird manifestation of that riddle: 
several glowing, phosphorescent dots on 
the visible curve of the space ship’s hull. 
Those dots marked the positions of tiny, 
deepening holes in the metal. The un- 
known was drilling fresh passages into 
the craft, as doubtless it was puncturing 
bulkheads within, and working, out of 
sight somewhere, on the surface of the 
turret itself. But Kerny was still un- 
able to act against the mystery which 
smallness concealed. He could not 
bring his proton pistol to bear against 
the luminous dots, through the massive 
walls of the turret; and he dared not 
venture forth yet, not only because of 
the danger of his own life, but because, 
during his exit, death might enter the 
refuge, destroying his and Rolf’s last 
chance of penetrating the enigma which 
threatened all commerce in this region 
of space. He could only shake his big 
fists, curse vengefully, and help Rolf 
whenever he was able. 

On the turret floor, during the end- 
less hours, a metal beetle toiled busily, 
plying tools which were almost too small 
to see with the unaided eye — tools many 
of which it had fabricated itself from 



96 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



bits of steel floss and foil, and minute 
flakes of hard diamond, with the aid of 
the little atomic furnace that sputtered 
beside it. 

And in the television screen of the 
robot control, the operations were en- 
larged, until those tools seemed to be 
of a size which men would use for fine 
work. The turret room itself had the 
aspect of a tremendous, cliff-walled 
cavern. 

Rolf alone was qualified to handle the 
robot control during most of the job; 
but while he slept, Kerny guided the 
little Scarab, polishing new parts, wind- 
ing coils, and doing other less intricate, 
though necessary, things. 

GRADUALLY, the Scarab of super- 
smallness was taking form. Viewed 
directly, it was only a glinting speck, 
like a little shred of steel among a mass 
of filings ; but examined in the television 
screen, it was a minute though intricate 
thing, somewhat like the mechanism that 
was building it, though, because of the 
need for haste, it had been simplified. 

It had no arms or legs, but it was 
provided with gravity screens, a rocket- 
propulsion unit and deflector-fins to 
gfuide it in its flight. Ft had eyes and 
a minute microphone which coidd pick 
up sounds finer and more faint than any 
a larger device could detect. Within 
its flattened, oval form were its radio 
receiver and transmitter, and the in- 
struments necessary to interpret prop- 
erly the commanding impulses that came 
to it through the medium of the ether. 

At last the new Scarab was com- • 
pleted and made ready for action. But 
would it work as it should? And 
would it be effective in combating the 
Paxtonian mystery? Or had the two 
men who were responsible for its crea- 
tion been following a false lead in their 
theory that in microscopic things lay the 
only means of approach to the grim 
problems they were trying to solve? 

Dr, Kurt Rolf adjusted his robot 



control to receive and transmit the deli- 
cate radio impulses on which the effec- 
tive guidance of the ultra-miero-robot 
depended. He did not need to use the 
radio of the larger Scarab as a relay, 
for the new robot, in spite of its extreme 
smallness, was still not so tiny as to -be 
beyond the direct range of the control. 

Next, he and Kerny put on their space 
suits once more ; for presently, if all 
went as they had planned, there would 
be no air around them. Now Rolf pro- 
ceeded to manipulate the keys of the 
guiding apparatus, just as he had done 
while directing the movements of the 
larger Scarab. 

Ejecting a minute thread of white 
flame from its rocket, the little metal 
miracle leaped from the floor and cir- 
cled the walls of the turret. 

In the television screen, what seemed 
a great, murky void was visible. In it 
even the dust motes of the air seemed 
as huge and jagged as masses of broken 
stone. 

“You’ve done it. Doc!” A1 Kerny 
said in tired though mighty enthusiasm. 
“Now maybe we'll be able to fight!” 
His face was haggard with the strain of 
tension ; it looked almost brutal. 

“Perhaps.” was Rolf's weary, laconic 
response. “It is best that we do not 
open the door to give our super Scarab 
exit. It would be safer to make a hole 
in the door.” 

Kerny turned the focusing boss of his 
proton pistol until the flame it would 
throw was reduced to a concentrated 
stream of energy no thicker than a 
pencil. This he directed at the door 
from close range. Under the hammer- 
ing of myriad, focused protons, the 
metal melted swiftly. In a minute there 
was a hole, the caliber of the beam, 
through the portal. With an expiring 
whisper, audible even through oxygen 
helmets, the atmosphere in the turret 
rushed from the opening; for in the 
passage without, and in the conning 
tower beyond, all the air had long since 



A MENACE IN MINIATURE 



97 



escaped, leaking through the punctures 
made, by the hidden enemy, in the ship’s 
hull. 

Now Kerny broadened and decreased 
the force of the flame; but he still kept 
it directed at the hole to form a sure 
guard against the entrance of the bane- 
ful unknown. Only for a moment was 
Kemy’s pistol inactive. That was when 
Rolf guided the super Scarab through 
the boring that had been made for it. 
Now, out of sight, it was flying close 
to that surface of the door which faced 
the passage. 

THE rapt attention of both men was 
now on the television screen. In it, 
through the eyes of their tiny servant, 
they could see the tremendous expanse 
of the door, and the colossal void of the 
passage leading to the conning tower. 
The great rocks that were dust motes, 
sucked from the war turret along with 
the air, were settling rapidly, for the 
atmosphere that had supported them 
had been much thinned by expansion, 
and now it was being thinned further 
by leakage through the punctured hull. 
Soon it would be gone entirely. No 
sound could be picked up by the super 
Scarab’s microphone or transmitted by 
the diaphragm of the robot controhHor 
the air was already too tliin to carry 
vibrations. 

But with the swift disappearance of 
the dust motes, vision improved. There 
was nothing strange in the vicinity of 
the door, but in the vast, clear distance 
of the passage, close to the gigantic 
globe of a ceiling illuminator, was a 
swirling swarm of specks which did not 
settle ! Paxtonia was beginning -to give 
up its grim secret! 

Rolf sent the super Scarab hurtling 
cautiously nearer to the swarm. Details 
sharpened, as, with fascinated attention, 
the men watched. In the screen they 
saw scores of black spheres, smaller tlmn 
the vanished dust particles. But they 
looked like space ships I Space ships 

AST— 7 



employing a principle of flight different 
from that known to Earthmen! 

It was still startling to think of craft 
of such smallness as being possible. 
But both Kerny and Rolf knew that 
there was no scientific fact to deny either 
the possibility of the existence of such 
craft, or the existence of their still more 
minute makers. 

And if they were space ships, many 
riddles were easy to explain. Smallness 
imposes no limit on speed, at least in 
a vacuum, while in air, if given time 
to accelerate, and if powered by motive 
devices of a strength in proportion to 
that of the vessel sent out from Earth, 
the attainment, by these hypothetical 
space craft, of a velocity surpassing that 
of a bullet, should not be difficult. Such 
speed would enable these ships to hurl 
themselves right through the metal of 
a man’s vacuum armor and into his flesh 
beneath. This idea is, at first, rather 
hard to believe ; but the strength of 
materials, in proportion to size, in- 
creases as size is diminished. A small 
object can be dropped from an enormous 
height without injury, while a large ob- 
ject of similar construction and mate- 
rials, would be, under the same condi- 
tions, completely smashed. The same 
rules apply to living creatures. 

Perhaps, then, MacDowd and the 
others had been killed by tiny space 
ships which had penetrated their armor 
and flesh, injecting into the latter a 
microscbpic but effective portion of 
virulent poison. If this was the case, 
doubtless the craft had retreated back 
through flesh and armor in the way 
they had come, leaving no trace of 
themselves for man’s microscopes to dis- 
cover. 

Perhaps the glowing specks which 
Rolf and Kerny had seen on the flanks 
of their own vessel were only the visible 
manifestations of microscopic heat tools, 
mounted on invisibly tiny space craft, 
and being applied to burn through 
metal. The explosions of the commer- 



98 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



cial ships from Earth, when they had 
approached Paxtonia, could be ex- 
plained by the penetration of some of 
these super Lilliputian space vessels into 
their interiors, and the application of a 
tiny spark to the sensitive, old-type fuel 
in their fuel tanks. Yes, with a tangible 
basis for a theory, answers to several 
questions were not difficult to find now. 

RUMINATIONS of this sort must 
have flashed through the minds of both 
Kerny and Rolf. But their most intense 
thoughts necessarily concerned the 
practical considerations of the immediate 
present. The time had come to clash 
with the enemy! 

“They have retreated from the door !” 
Rolf shouted into his ether phone. “You 
can open it now, if you act quickly! A 
foot to the right of the first illuminator 
globe in the corridor is where the swarm 
of spheres is amassed !” 

Kemy jerked the portal open, and 
directed his proton pistol with swift and 
vengeful accuracy. Blue, deadly flame 
shot from the weapon, blanketing the 
space which Dr. Rolf had indicated. 

A1 Kerny saw no evidence that his 
act had produced any effect; but he 
heard the scientist’s triumphant shout: 
“Success! Small things may be tough, 
but the spheres can’t withstand the blast 
of swift and ultimately small protons! 
The heat, generated in their substance, 
has melted them ! Now I shall look for 
more swarms of spheres, and tell you 
where to find them ! We must clear the 
corridor and get back to the conning 
tower !’’ 

For several seconds there was a 
pause, while Kerny watched the super 
Scarab waver and circle aliead of him. 
Tiny though it was, its position was al- 
ways plain because of the spark of 
incandescence ejected from its rocket. 

Presently, Rolf shouted again : “Above 
the Scarab — perhaps eighteen inches ! 
Blast quickly before there is time to at- 
tack and destroy our robot!” 



A1 obeyed, and another group of tiny, 
deadly spheres was wiped out. 

So it went. The scientist gave di- 
rections through his ether phone, and 
Kerny responded with wolfish and glee- 
ful efficiency. There was still grave 
danger; but Kerny was not blind and 
helpless any more, when faced by the 
menace in miniature. He and his com- 
panion possessed a little guide that 
could meet that menace on an even 
basis. 

Thus, at last, the corridor was cleared, 
and A1 moved on to the conning tower. 
Here, death must have passed him by 
only the narrowest of margins; for one 
of the hordes of spheres, swirling to at- 
tain what was probably meant to be a 
death-inflicting velocity, passed within a 
yard of him before he could destroy it. 
But presently, for the moment at least, 
the conning tower was clear of enemies. 

“Make a dash for it now. Doc!” 
Kerny shouted into his ether phone. 

Momentarily, the super Scarab came 
to rest among banked levers and in- 
struments, while Rolf, bearing the robot 
control, reached the conning tower as 
quickly as he could. Once inside, he 
slammed the metal door behind him. 
Then he set the robot control down on 
the floor, and began again to hammer its 
keys. 

The super Scarab took off once more, 
to parallel the walls in its flight, seeking 
the tiny holes which the enemy had 
drilled in the ship’s hull. There were 
several of these here in the conning 
tower. Kerny welded all but one of 
them shut with his proton pistol. 

This remaining hole, viewed in the 
television screen, looked like a big tun- 
nel. Now, under Rolf’s guidance, the 
super Scarab darted through it, and out 
over the Paxtonian plain. Ahead of it, 
revealed in the screen, were several re- 
treating spheres. 

“We will follow them with our ship,” 
Rolf announced. “We must keep close 
to our robot, or else the distance will 



A MENACE IN MINIATURE 



99 



be too great for contact with it. The 
radio waves it emits are very faint.” 

Pilot A1 Kerny leaped to the ship’s 
controls. Levers moved in his grasp. 
There was a heavy vibration of rockets 
as the craft cleared the ground, 

THE TINY FLAME of the Scarab 
was difficult to see in the bright sun- 
shine ; but Kerny, peering through the 
windows, managed to locate it. After 
that he kept his gaze fixed on it with 
grim purpose. 

Over the wreckage of vast machines 
and buildings, the ship flew. Bas- 
reliefs of slender, attenuated bodies with 
great bulging eyes, carved on crumbling 
walls, glided by beneath. 

“Proceed,” Rolf assured his com- 
panion. “We are on the right track. 
The super Scarab is still behind the re- 
treating spheres.” 

A1 Kerny saw the speck of flame that 
was his guide dart down toward what 
was apparently an immense boulder. 
Then it disappeared, seeming to vanish 
into the mass of the huge lump of stone. 
Automatically, not knowing what else to 
do, Kerny worked the helm levers, 
causing the ship to begin the arc of a 
circle above the great rock. 

He looked back toward- Rolf, crouch- 
ing beside the robot control. But in the 
television screen, action was depicted 
which caught and held Kerny’s gaze as 
though it possessed hypnotic power. 
So like was the aspect of everything to 
the parts of an environment which a 
man would consider of normal dimen- 
sions, that it took Kerny a moment to 
realize that what he beheld was the 
magnification of minute miniatures. 

The micro-robot from which the view 
was broadcast, was traversing what ap- 
peared to be a wide tunnel, illumined 
dimly. Before Rolf’s creation, the 
spheres were retreating more slowly 
now ; and from the floor of the passage 
queer, rodlike weapons, mounted like 
cannons, were being discharged against 



the intruder with faint white spurts of 
flame. But strangest of all, these 
weapons were manned by slender gp-ay 
monsters, identical in every detail to the 
monsters depicted in bas-relief on the 
walls of the ancient Paxtonian domes! 

The firing from the rod weapons was 
feeble and scattered ; so Rolf guided the 
super Scarab on along the tunnel. But 
presently its way was barred by an air 
lock of some transparent material. The 
spheres, retreating ahead, had passed 
through the lock, but now its doors were 
closed. Nevertheless, through its clear 
substance, a cavern was visible beyond 
it — a cavern illumined by what must 
have been artificial sunshine. There 
were lakes and forests and hills and 
growing crops on the cavern floor; and 
there was what seemed a great, crystal 
city, in which millions of monsters, like 
those of the bas-reliefs, were swarm- 
ing. 

Now the ground batteries in the tun- 
nel began a more active barrage. Rolf 
was forced to cause the micro-robot to 
retreat. Presently it emerged above the 
barren landscape of Paxtonia. 

THE SCIENTIST was pounding 
control keys less furiously now. “I 
think I understand it all at last,” he 
said. “The spheres are really space 
ships, manned by Paxtonians as small, 
almost, as microbes. They were the 
cause of all our troubles.” 

“But they are miniatures of the an- 
cients, who were countless times their 
size!” Kerny burst out. “Why should 
that be?” 

Rolf shrugged. “Simple,” he 
breathed. “Simple and marvelous. It 
is a solution to the problem of shortages, 
which probably has seldom been thought 
of. When the world of which Paxtonia 
was a part broke up, ages ago, a num- 
ber of its inhabitants survived here. 
They built the stone domes, in which 
water and air could be sealed. But 
existence was — ^how shall I say? — very 



100 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



cramped. There could be no expansion 
of population because of the limited 
supplies of air and water that had been 
salvaged from the wreckage of the 
broken world. Race extinction was 
doubtless in sight. But it so happens 
that a small organism needs less air and 
water than a large organism. In con- 
sequence, the Paxtonians decided to 
grow smaller. 

“In a limited way we understand the 
means tliey must have used. Growth, 
in man, is controlled to some extent by 
gland secretions. Heredity also has its 
part to play in determining an individ- 
ual’s size. By a process of selecting 
only the smallest individuals of the race 
for parenthood, the Paxtonians might 
have reached their present minuteness 
after long ages of time. But doubtless 
they found a quicker way with the aid of 
gland control. 

“Utilizing much the same methods, 
they reduced animals and plants in pro- 
portion. And now they are a people 
which must number many millions of 
individuals, living complex, civilized, 
and comfortable lives inside the sealed 
caverns which they have excavated in 
a great rock. No wonder their refuge 
wasn’t found before this!’’ 

A1 Kerny looked a trifle dazed. 
“Well,” he said, “that ends the Pax- 
tonian mystery, doesn’t it? There’s 



nothing left to do but knock over that 
damned ant hill and wipe out every bug 
inside it ! The torpedo projector in the 
war turret is made for that kind of 
work!” 

Kemy glanced toward the door, his 
gray eyes glinting with the tight of 
vengeance. Then, suddenly, most of the 
grimness of him softened. 

“We know how to fight them now,” 
he said irrelevantly. “They aren’t dan- 
gerous any more, if we’re careful.” He 
paused, and then went on : "They were 
probably scared; that’s why they blew 
up those commercial ships and killed 
the boys. In their position, we’d have 
done the same, if we had the nerve. 
Besides, they’ve already paid the price 
in blood. Maybe, when they find out 
that Earthmen aren’t such bad eggs, 
they’ll make friends. Earth ought to 
be able to learn a lot from them. Say, 
Doc. let’s just scram and leave the little 
devils alone ! There probably are a few 
of their spheres still somewhere on the 
ship ; but with the super Scarab to 
watch, we’ll be fairly safe.” 

Rolf smiled. “I was almost sure you 
would have a change of heart, my 
friend,” he said. “And yes, here comes 
the Scarab, back.” 

Through the tiny hole in the wall of 
the conning tower flew a pin prick of 
hot, white light 




Gentlemen, 

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a fine 90 Proof Kentucky 
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Change to MINT SPRINGS 
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A 



Scientific A IT1 TT T? 

Article: 1 Lilli 

INSCRUTABLE 



by R. DeWitt Miller 




S CIENCE has never been the same 
since Ra, the inscrutable, was dis- 
covered. That enigmatic pair of 
letters has enlarged science’s conception 
of the universe more than anything for 
the last two centuries. 

It began by destroying half the moss- 
grown laws of physics. Then it quietly 
pushed the accepted idea of the founda- 
tion of matter into the file labeled “Ex- 
ploded Theories.’’ From inanimate mat- 
ter it turned to living tissue and attacked 
the world’s most dreaded disease. At 
the present time it is threatening to re- 
vamp science’s conception of the basis 
of life. 

Ra — the strangest thing on earth, de- 
stroyer and builder, dealer of death and 
giver of life — Ra — symbol for radium.* 
For centuries science laughed at the 
dreams of ancient alchemists, toiling in 
their dim medieval laboratories in search 
of a method by which cheaper elements 

• Although radium l.s only one of the radio- 
actire elements, it has come to stand for the 
whole group. “RadloactiTC" is a name coined 
by Madame Curie. It is the general term for 
the elements whose eccentricities are discussed 
In this article. 



That thousands might not die — 

If the handful of radium repre- 
sented in this picture were re- 
moved from the world, thousands 
of people would die from those 
types of cancer that are curable by 
Ra. The substance actually shown 
in this picture is ordinary sugar, 
which closely resembles radium in 
appearance. If this handful were 
actually radium it would be worth 
$20,000,000. There are two such 
handfuls of radium in the world 
to-<Jay. 

could be transmuted into gold. Ele- 
ments, according to the science of the 
nineteenth century, were final, un- 
changeable things. The scientists had 
reduced matter to a neat little theory. 
They felt securely happy that they had 
a definite, unchangeable basis for the 
mother of the sciences, physics. 

They are far less sure to-day. The 
dead, changeless matter in which they 
once believed has faded like a child’s 
dream. No theory of matter will ever 
again be so simple — because of the dis- 
covery of radium and radioactivity. 

After less than fifty years of research, 
radium and radioactive substances arc 
threatening to turn biology upside down. 
The new marvels of the wonder ele- 
ments come so fast we forget the more 
fundamental changes of scientific con- 
ceptions which followed their discovery. 

If you saw a nugget of gold slowly 
and inexorably change to silver, you 
would probably call in the society for 
psychical research. But exactly the same 
principle is involved in the death and 
birth of elements going on in a miligram 





102 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 




This is not a gauntlet from the 
days when knighthood was in 
flower, but a lead shield used to 
protect the operator when handling 
bare capsules of radium. The long 
tweezers, which can be seen pro- 
truding from the gauntlet, prevent 
the operator’s coming too close to 
the radium. The capsule of radium 
is lying in the lead shield shown in 
the lower right-hand comer of the 
picture. 

of radium — and nothing on God’s green 
earth can alter that process or change its 
speed by a fraction of a second. 

The heat of the electric furnace, the 
absolute cold of outer space, nor any 
known chemical or ray, can prevent ra- 
dium from becoming lead. Science can- 
not start the chain of radioactivity. It 
cannot stop it. 

After years of research, science is be- 
gining to realize how fundamental was 
the revolution wrought by the discovery 
of that pinch of white powder, looking 
like a few crystals of ordinary sugar. 

Recently, Eddington, famous British 
physicist, called the electron a “whirl in 
space.’’ Surely but steadily, matter is 
taking on more and more of the at- 
tributes once ascribed to force. But fifty 



years ago the universe was believed to 
be constructed of stable, changeless 
atoms, like a child’s tower built of inde- 
structible blocks. 

According to the older conception, the 
universe was a thing finished and 
changeless. Nothing w'ould ever be 
added to the sum total of matter, noth- 
ing taken away. There were certain 
kinds of building materials called atoms. 
There was so much copper, so much 
iron, so much hydrogen. The relative 
amounts of these elements never 
changed. An atom of copper would re- 
main an atom of copper through all time. 

It was a closed system. More than 
that, it was a dead system. The most 
fundamental of the sciences, physics, was 
fretting away the years inside a prison 
whose walls were made of a theory too 
small for the universe. 

The discovery of radium blasted the 
original breach in that wall. After a 
few brief years, the wall itself is gone, 
and science is striding forward, in all 
directions, toward retreating horizons. 

A few years ago Millikan startled the 
world with his discovery of cosmic rays, 
and his theory that they betokened the 
birth of matter. That the theory has 
been called in question is an inconse- 
quential point — that it was advanced at 
all shows the change in the conception 
of matter caused by radium. 

But radium did not stop with the un- 
seating of physics. It quietly advanced 
on biology. After it proved that science 
needed a more living conception of mat- 
ter, it began to tighten the relationship 
between radioactivity and life. At the 
present time there are rumblings from a 
dozen branches of science, rumblings 
which may some day shake the scientific 
world as no other storm has ever done. 
But before this pending commotion can 
be made clear, a few more fundamental 
facts need repeating. 

The basis of reality is matter. The 
basis of matter was thought up until 
1896 to be the atom. In that year the 



RA, THE INSCRUTABLE 



103 



discovery of X rays suggested the pos- 
sibility that there might be a smaller 
unit of matter than the atom. 

However, the physicists and mathema- 
ticians remained secure in their old basic 
unit until Antoine Henri Becquerel left 
some uranium salts lying in the dark 
near a photographic plate. The plate 
was mysteriously fogged. Through 
blind chance, Ra had left its signature. 
After that the physicists began to be 
suspicious that there was an Ethiopian 
in the atomic cordwood. 

At about the same time, Madame 
Curie discovered something of greater 
importance. Uranium is extracted from 
the mineral pitchblende. By testing 
pitchblende with an electroscope, she 
found that the radiations emitted by the 
ore were several times greater than those 
emitted by uranium itself. Of this dis- 
covery she wrote: 

I then niade the hypothesis that pitch- 
blende contains, in small quantity, a sub- 
stance much more strongly active than 
uranium itself. This substance would 
not be one of the known elements, be- 



cause these had already been examined; 
it must, therefore, be a new element. I 
had a passionate desire to verify this 
hypothesis as rapidly as possible 

With a patience unsurpassed in the 
whole history of science, she and her 
husband extracted a few milligrams of 
the new element from a ton of pitch- 
blende. They gave the new element a 
name — radium. 

Then came the most fundamental dis- 
covery of all. They found that radium 
and uranium were not like other ele- 
ments. They were not static. They 
were not changeless. Radium was born 
in the disintegration of uranium. In its 
turn it died in the formation of radon 
— and in the death struggle of its atoms, 
subatomic rays were emitted. 

An atomic bomb had destroyed half 
of physics. 

Silently and steadily, any given 
amount of uranium becomes a new ele- 
ment, ionium. The change is funda- 
mental and final. It is not a chemical 
change or the formation of a new com- 



/■y /%t/M 








The radium C, one of the prod- 
ucts of the disintegration of 
radium into radon and polonium, 
breaks up into two subatomic 
products as is shown here. This 
point well illustrates the extreme 
complexity of the subatomic 
change going on in radioactive 
elements. 



Stic. 






104 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Kttlonal rrlnary Staadara of B«dle«ctl-rtty 

(lisCl, RsAiun Chloride, 15.375 me) 
SeeoBdary Stendards 




10 me £5 ag 50 mg 

pound, as when iron rusts. One of the 
basic building blocks of matter changes 
to another, and man is powerless to do 
anything about it. 

But the uranium-ionium step is only 
the first link in the chain. Ionium is as 
perverse as its mother. It changes to 
radium. Radium, in its turn, becomes 
a gas, radon. Radon becomes polonium, 
and polonium changes to common, ordi- 
nary lead. Radium is at present selling 
for $55,000 a gram. A lead sinl<er for 
a fishing line, weighing many grams, 
costs practically nothing. 

As to where uranium gets its radio- 
activity, science is noncommittal. It is 
like asking where matter comes from. 
Why one' family of elements should be 
endowed with a .strange, almost lifelike 
quality, is a question which — like most 
of the questions concerning radioactivity 
— leads only to a phsychological W'all 
made up of symbols and man’s inability 
to take the abstract in pure doses. 

It is certain, how'ever, that when each 
element in the chain changes to the next, 
a definite drop in atomic weight occurs. 
Every instant a certain number of the 
atoms of a radioactive substance ex- 
plode. This violent subatomic disturb- 
ance results in the expulsion of certain 
particles and the rearrangement of the 
■ atom in the form of a new element. 

The particles blown out of an atom 
of radioactive substance when it changes 
to a new element form the radiations 
characteristic of that step in the chain. 
Rays- — or radiations — are simply 

streams of these particles. The word 
“particle” is used here in the same sense' 



that it is used by physicists — as a sym- 
bol for something that isn’t quite under- 
stood. The structure of the atom may 
be roughly compared to that of our solar 
system, with the nucleus of the atom be- 
ing represented by our sun. If you can 
then imagine a planet or moon being 
suddenly shot out of the system, you 
have some idea of what happens when 
a radioactive atom breaks down. Only 
don’t use that illustration if there are 
any physicists in hearing distance. They 
like to take their explanation straight — 
in symbols, equations, and formulae. 

If you like to leave tlie calculations 
to the mathematicians and have a look 
at subatomic force, examine the numbers 
of a luminous watch with a good read- 
ing glass. Allow a few minutes for your 
eyes to become accustomed to the dim 
light. 

The letters wfill be seen to be seething 
with innumerable sparks. These sparks 
are cau.sed by the particles thrown ot? 
by exploding radium atoms striking 
against the atoms of zinc sulphate with 
which the minute quantity of radium is 
mixed. Each spark indicates an atomic 
explosion. 

Eventually the figures on the watch 
will lose their luminosity. This is 
caused by the breakdowir of the zinc 
sulphate under the electronic bombard- 
ment. The radium does not fail. It 
takes 1700 years for a given quantity of 
radium to lose half its power. 

Coming back to- the pattern of atomic 
breakdown in the radioactive elements, 
■we immediately get into deep water 
jagain. The whole process is infinitely 
■complex. For instance the step be- 
tween radon and polonium is made up 
of a series of minor changes designated 
as radium A, B, C, D, E, F, and G. 

To add a final complication, two en- 
tirely distinct series of radio disintegra- 
tion have been discovered — one starting 
from the element thorium, and another 
Ironi actinium. Where thorium and ac- 



RA, THE INSCRUTABLE 



105 



tinium get their radioactivity is as much 
of a mystery as in the case of uranium. 

The whole thing is sufficiently mixed 
up to keep the physicist busy for quite 
a while. In fact, the matter would have 
been permanently turned over to theo- 
retical science if it were not for a queer 
fact concerning the particles shot off 
during the process of atomic change. 

These particles will pass through the 
finest armor steel that will stop sixteen- 
inch shells. In fact, radium radiations 
are now used to check internal flaws in 
castings for all U. S. battleships. But 
the most important thing about these 
gamma rays is their strange effect on 
living tissue. People who handled ra- 
dium in the early days, before adequate 
protection by lead shields, died of mys- 
terious burns. 

So, around the beginning of this cen- 
tury, medicine began to experiment with 
the latest i toy of the physicists. In- 
evitably the new weapon was turned on 
the old subtle destroyer of human life 
— cancer. Suddenly new hope was born 
for the thousands who had been doomed 
to horrible deaths. Ra had opened a 
second great line of research. 

The first discoveries about radioactiv- 
ity were made in the quiet security of 
the mathematician’s study, and the com- 
parative safety of the physicist’s labora- 
tory. But the second engagement with 
Ra was a life-and-death struggle. Many 
new names were added to martyrs of 
medicine before the doctors learned to 
keep their distance from the radiations 
thrown off by the exploding atoms. 

But the warriors in white whose bod- 
ies were burned and withered by the 
mysterious eternal fire did not fail in 
vain. Within a few years lead contain- 
ers, shields, and lead-impregnated 
aprons had made treatment by radium 
safe both to the doctor and the patient. 

Those early workers in silent death 
found that, although long exposure to 
the rays altered or killed all living tis- 
sue, normal body cells could stand small 



doses of radiation. But the cells of cer- 
tain types of cancer — particularly those 
of the skin and similar tissue — were not 
as resistant to radiation. They shriv- 
eled and died before the surrounding tis- 
sue was affected. 

Radium alone has not beaten cancer, 
but many tumors, once thought hopeless, 
have been completely destroyed by the 
streams of subatomic particles thrown 




A skin cancer near the eye being 
treated by the use of radium 
needles. These needles have been 
inserted, under an anaesthetic, into 
the heart of the cancerous mass. 
Radium is particularly effective in 
treating this type of skin cancer. 

off by the atomic breakdown of the won- 
der element. 

As the years have gone by, larger and 
larger doses of radiation have been used 
successfully. To-day “radium bombs’’ 
containing as much as five grams of the 
precious element have been placed within 
the bodies or on the skin of cancer suf- 
ferers and left for hours. 

Atomic bombs are not yet a reality 
in warfare of man against man, but they 
are already in use in the struggle of man 




106 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



against cancer. Strangest of all, pa- 
tients who have had within their bodies 
the ultimate force — subatomic power — 
feel no pain. In fact, some patients seem 
to feel a strange exhilaration. One 
woman in whose body four grams of 
radium had been placed overnight, re- 
fused to sleep. “I didn’t want to lose 
a moment of that strange feeling of joy 
and exhilaration,” she explained. 

Another strange effect of radium on 
living tissue is the ability of its radia- 
tions to cause artificial changes or “mu- 
tations” in germ cells. In the normal 
process of evolution a certain number of 
abnormal individuals appear in each 
-generation of plants and animals. Ra- 
dium radiations — as do the X rays — 
increase the frequency and amount of 




Electroscope used in the Bureau 
of Standards in Washington for 
determining the power of the rays 
of any given quantity of radium. 

All radium used or offered for sale 
in the United States is checked by 
this device. 

these variations. Up to the present time 
no method has been devised to control 
these artificial mutations so as to pro- 
duce desired changes in plant and ani- 
mal forms. Should such a method ever 
be discovered, radium would add eugen- 
ics to the sciences it has revolutionized. 

At the present time, however, science 
is endeavoring to take advantage of the 
chance that some of these artificial muta- 
tions caused by the radiation will be an 
improvement on the normal form of the 



organism. This line of research is es- 
pecially promising in the creating of new 
forms of fruits — particularly of the cit- 
rus family. 

These fruits are propagated by bug- 
ging rather than from .seed. In this 
way the artificial changes could be main- 
tained without danger of their reverting 
to the original form. In the citrus ex- 
perimental station, at Riverside, Cali- 
fornia, the seeds of normal oranges are 
being exposed to radiation in the hopes 
that a more juicy and stable variety of 
navel orange may be produced. The 
present navel was originally an acci- 
dental mutation. But science cannot 
wait for nature to produce another such 
mutation in perhaps a thousand years. 
So radium has been called upon to speed 
up the process. 

This line of research may have far 
larger results than creating a better or- 
ange for your breakfast table. If radium 
in the hands of man can produce new 
types of organisms, so can radium in 
the hands of nature. It would be only 
natural to expect that organisms living 
in parts of the world which are rich in 
radium and other radioactive substances 
would suffer more mutations than those 
living on parts of the earth’s surface 
where radioactivity is small. 

Following out this line of thought. 
Dr. R. R. Spencer, of the U. S. Public 
Health Service, made a number of illu- 
minating experiments. 

He observed many generations of 
fruit flies which he kept in a San Fran- 
cisco street-car tunnel. The rocks 
through which the tunnel was bored 
were known to be rich in radium. The 
percentage of abnormal flies in each gen- 
eration was much greater than in the 
flies bred outside of the tunnel. 

Dr. Spencer then took his flies to 
Colorado and bred them in the shaft of 
a radium mine. There were even more 
mutations in the generations of these 
flies than there had been in the street- 
car-tunnel colony. 



RA, THE INSCRUTABLE 



107 



For his next experiment he used bac- 
teria — a needle containing radium was 
dipped in a culture of bacteria. After 
a few minutes the bacteria were placed 
in a new medium and allowed to mul- 
tiply. 

When the exposure to the rays was 
prolonged, all of the bacteria were killed, 
but when the exposure was short, most 
of the organisms survived. When these 
were allowed to multiply, new forms ap- 
peared. Every effort was made to pre- 
vent possible contamination by bacteria 
carried in the air or on the instruments. 
Still the new forms continued to develop 
in the radium-treated bacteria. More 
than that, the changed bacteria did not 
revert to type, but kept their changed 
form through succeeding generations. 

From this data. Dr. Spencer formu- 
lated a new theory of the origin of the 
great pandemics of disease which have 
periodically ravaged mankind. Science 
has never been able to explain why such 
diseases as bubonic plague, scarlet fever, 
and influenza should suddenly burst 
forth with such fury that they threaten 
to destroy the human species. 

These diseases are always present on 
the earth. From whence comes their 
new vitality? From radium, suggests 
Dr. Spencer. History indicates that the 
majority of these pandemics have swept 
down from China and India. This has 
generally been attributed to the poor 
sanitation in these countries. 

But these countries have another 
thing in common besides bad plumbing. 
They both border on the great plateau 
of the Himalayas. These are the young- 
est mountains geologically, which would 
indicate that they contain large amounts 
of radium. Furthermore, the Russian 
scientist. Dr. V. I. Vernadsky, made a 
radium survey of Russia and discovered 
that the percentage of radioactivity in- 
creased as he approached the Asiatic 
highlands. 

It is also noted that most new forms 



pf plants are discovered in high moun- 
tains, where the radium deposits are 
greater. The ocean floor is another spot 
for the development of new organic 
forms. Specimens from the floors of 
many parts of the oceans have shown a 
high percentage of radium. 

From all these facts Dr. Spencer 
forms the theory that there are spots on 
the earth, possibly some hidden valleys 
deep in the Himalayas, where disease 
germs are subjected to radiations and 
where new forms are developed. 

These new forms, although similar to 
the original, differ enough to permit 
them to escape the immunity which men 
have built up to the normal type. When 
such germs chance to be brought into 
the highly populated areas, an epidemic 
breaks forth, which then assumes world- 
wide proportions, as in the influenza 
pandemic which took more lives than 
the World War. 

It is conceivable that some day, not 
so far in the future, an enlightened man- 
kind will forbid human beings entering 
these areas of heavy radioactive depos- 
its, thus cutting off the source of new 
disease forms. 

While this theory awaits further ex- 
perimental data, another discovery, an- 
nounced in April of this year, has added 
a fact of tremendous significance to long 
chains of startling discoveries based on 
radioactivity. 

A German scientist by the name of 
Zwaardemaker removed all of the ele- 
ment potassium from the blood stream 
of animals. The hearts of the animals 
then ceased to beat. Potassium is a 
very slightly radioactive element. 

Zwaardemaker had an idea. He sub- 
stituted another radioactive element for 
potassium in the blood stream. The 
hearts again began to beat. He went a 
step further and merely subjected the 
hearts to bombardment by radium rays. 
They began beating at once, showing 
that it was not the lack of potassium 



108 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



which stopped them, but the lack of ra- 
dioactivity in the blood stream. 

More and more researches are indi- 
cating some subtle connection between 
life and radioactivity. The purely chem- 
ical conception of life has not borne 
much fruit. Science to-day is turn- 
ing its attention more to electricity as 
the key to the strangest phenomenon 
in the universe — living matter. But 
even electricity seems somehow to fall 
just short of the extra-chemical force 
necessary to explain life. 

Radioactivity is closely allied to elec- 
tricity. Could the key to the mystery 
of life be hidden in those strange ex- 
ploding atoms of radioactive substances? 
Living matter is composed of atoms. 
But the atoms of living matter seem im- 
bued with a strange force — a force as 
strange as radioactivity. 

Idle speculation, you say. Perhaps. 
But do not forget what Julian Huxley 
said : “If you don’t go beyond fact, you’ll 
never get as far as fact.’’ 

That sentence could never be better 
applied than to radium. If the early 
skeptics of radioacivity had possessed 
the spirit of Huxley, fewer men would 
have had to eat their words. No discov- 
ery in a hundred years has so completely 
fulfilled every hope as has the discovery 
of radium and radioactivity. 

It has revamped basic science as no 
other discovery has ever done. It has 
opened the door to the understanding of 
the structure of the atom. It has given 



medicine a new weapon against the 
world’s most terrible disease. It has 
opened new lines of research into living 
matter and heredity. It has shown the 
force within the atom — the only force by 
which rockets can be driven outside the 
gravity of the earth. 

Without the discovery of radium and 
radioactivity the theories of Einstein, 
Jeans, Eddington and a dozen others 
would never have been born. No one 
would ever have dreamed of such a 
thing as a particle of matter having 
velocity but no mass. 

But why review the past ? The great- 
est conquests of radioactivity are still 
in the future. 

Ra, die inscrutable, stands at the edge 
of the unknown, beckoning science on- 
ward — to an ever larger and truer con- 
ception of the universe. 

Chart showing the atomic change of the 
radioactive elements. Three series of radio- 
active change are shown : one starting from 
uranium, one from thorium, and one from 
actinium. For simplicity a few of the minor 
steps in the chain have been omitted. Sci- 
ence has always been somewhat baffled as to 
the classification of radioactive elements. 
The general temlency is to classify only the 
major steps in the chain, such as uranium, 
ionium, radon, radium, etc., as elements. The 
life of many of the radioactive products, 
particularly the minor ones, is very short, 
often a matter of minutes or seconds, as is 
shown in this chart. In all cases the 2 rays 
are far more penetrating than the A or B 
rays and it is these rays which have the all- 
important effect on living tissue. 



EI.EMBNT 


ATOMIC 

WT. 


ATOMIC 

NO. 


T 


RATS 


Uranium-Radium series 
Uranium I 


238.18 


92 


4.5x10* yr. 


A 


Uranium II 


234 


92 


about 2x10® yr. 


A 


Ionium 


230 


90 


about 9x10^ yr. 


A 


Radium 


226 


88 


1580yr. 


A 


Radon (Ra Elmanation) 


222 


86 


3.82 days 


A 


Radium A 


218 


84 


3.05 min. 


A 


Radium B 


214 


82 


26.8 min. 


B,2 


Radium C 


214 


83 


19.7 min. 


A, B.2 


Radium D 


210 


82 


16 yr. 


B,2 


Radium E 


210 


83 


5.0 days 


B.2 


Radium F (Polonium) 


210 


84 


136.5 days 


A 


Radium G (end-product uranium-lead) 206 


82 







RA, THE INSCRUTABLE 



109 



ELEMENT 


ATOMIC 

WT. 


ATOMIC 

NO. 


T 


RAYS 


Thorium series 


Thorium 


232.1 


90 


2.2x1010 yr. 


A 


Mesothorium 


228 


88 


6.7 yr. 


B,2 


Radiothorium 


228 


90 


1.90 yr. 


A 


Thorium A 


216 


84 


0.14 sec. 


A 


Thorium B 


212 


82 


10.6 hr. 


A 


Thorium C 


212 


83 


60 min. 




Thorium D (end-product thorium-lead) 208 


82 






ELEMENT 


ATOMIC 

WT. 


ATOMIC 

NO. 


T 


RATS 


Actinium series 


Protoactinium 


230 


91 


a'bout lO'i yr. 


A 


Actinium 


226 


89 


20 yr. 


B 


Radioactinium 


226 


90 


19 days 


A 


Actinium A 


214 


84 


.002 sec. 


A 


Actinium B 


210 


82 


36 min. 


B,2 


Actinium C 


210 


83 


2.16 min. 


A 


Actinium D (end-product actinium-lead) 206 


82 







Why Not Read The Best 

When The Best Costs No More 



STREET & SMITH’S 

DETECTIVE STORY 

MAGAZINE 

THE FIRST PUBLICATION TO PRINT 
EXCLUSIVELY 

DETECTIVE AND CRIME MYSTERY STORIES 

HAS BEEN REDUCED IN PRICE 
FROM 20 CENTS TO 

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BEGINNING WITH THE OCTOBER ISSUE 
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AND THE QUALITY OF THE STORIES 
IS HIGHER THAN EVER BEFORE 

As a matter of fact, Street & Smith’s Detective Story 
Magazine is paying more for story content now than in 
any of its twenty-two years of existence. 



PENAL WORLD 

by Thornton Ayre 



J AME^ CARDEW, former Ameri- 
can citizen, was on Jupiter through 
no fault of his own. He was in no 
way to blame for the fact that he now 
stood inside his enormously reenforced 
space suit gazing out on a landscape in- 
credibly vast and rugged, stretching to 
a colossal distance, bounded at remote- 
ness by the boiling horror of the seven- 
thousand-mile-wide Great Red Spot. 

Jupiter was the penal world of the 
system, last working place of the crimi- 
nals of Earth, Mars and Venus. And 
for a very good reason ! Once a space 
machine landed on Jupiter- it was com- 
mon knowledge that, in the case of the 
huge convict machines at least, it could 
never leave. The titanic gravity of the 
planet claimed large-sized ships abso- 
lutely. 

James Cardew had been framed by 
certain jealous officials of the space ways 
— shipped to Jupiter because he knew 
too much of graft and corruption in high 
places. For two years he had worked 
among the bitter-hearted men at the set- 
tlement — a vast underground abode of 
itanium metal. Periodic No. 187, vastly 
heavy, and the only known metal capable 
of withstanding, for six continuous 
months, the unbelievable pressure of 
Jupiter’s atmosphere and down-drag. 
By the time the six months were up 
this highly radioactive metal began to 
collapse 

The convicts’ entire life, therefore, 
consisted of building up the very walls 
that hemmed them in. And twenty 
miles away, where the walls were like- 
wise always being repaired by good- 
behavior men, was the underground 
residence of Governor Mason and his 



family, voluntarily marooned on this 
colossal world. 

Despite the fact that within the gover- 
nor’s abode and the settlement there 
were machines which nullified the crush- 
ing gravitation, men did go berserk at 
times — warders and prisoners alike. 
Some went to the exterior — ^a freely per- 
mitted act — quite unprotected, to die in- 
stantly in an atmosphere of pure am- 
moniated hydrogen at a frigid tempera- 
ture of a hundred and twenty degrees 
below zero centigrade. 

Others were smarter. They frisked 
itanium space suits and furtively escaped 
in them — ^but they were never heard of 
again. Either way it was suicide. 

James Cardew had done pretty much 
the same thing. Suicide had been in 
his mind for months; he’d been on the 
verge of walking unprotected to the ex- 
terior. Then, from the external reflec- 
tors in the main machine room, he had 
seen a space ship of the private variety 
— small and easy to handle — fall like a 
brilliant comet in the dense atmosphere, 
dropping finally about two hundred 
miles due east. If he could reach that 
ship he might, by very reason of its 
smallness, break the effect of Jupiter’s 
drag and get back to Earth, square his 
wrongful conviction. 

It was pretty obvious that the vessel 
had been accidentally caught in the 
giant world’s enormous attractive field; 
maybe the pilot had been an amateur, 
unauthorized by the space flying com- 
mittees. Whatever it was, James Car- 
dew realized that he had to reach that 
ship within three weeks before the vio- 
lent atmosphere and pressure made an 
end of it. 




A vicious stream of devastating dame spouted from the oxygen pistol — 
sent the “sican” rearing upward 



Three weeks — two hundred miles 
across Jupiter’s terrible terrain. To es- 
cape the prison had not been difficult. 
It was now that the difficulties began. 

CARDEW’S gray eyes were grim be- 
hind the six-inch, unbreakable glass of 
his helmet; his lean, powerful face was 



set in grimly determined lines, the lines 
of a man accustomed, by now, to bear- 
ing inexorable strain. For every step 
he took he was forced to raise a weight 
about three times in excess of normal, 
including his densely heavy space suit, 
so designed as to exclude external and 
maintain internal pressures. 





112 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Even so, being a onc-bundred-and- 
sixty-eight-pound man, he weighed four 
hundred and forty-eight pounds on Jupi- 
ter, with his space suit and heavy equip- 
ment added to it. It made of his body 
a vastly heavy, aching machine. 

He took stock of his position from be- 
hind the protection of two upjutting 
rocks of tremendously dense material. 
They afforded him a little shelter from 
the tycane — ^technical name for the vast 
two - hundred - and - fifty - mile - per - hour 
wind forever raging from pole to pole of 
the giant world. Yet by reason of the 
enormous gravity the effect of the wind 
on a human being was about equal to 
a gale of one hundred miles per hour. 
Around the Great Red Spot, the one 
remaining portion of Jupiter still un- 
solidified, despite the frigid cold of the 
rest of the surface, the tycane had been 
known to reach the incredible velocity 
of over four hundred miles per hour — 
but then the Spot was recognized by all 
experts as the fester spot of Jove, seven 
thousand miles of bubbling, densely 
heavy materials 

Cardew, moving his arms with enor- 
mous effort, studied his compass inside 
its protective itanium case and took 
.stock of his direction. His route would 
lead him to the Fishnet Jungle, through 
a cleft of the Seven Peak Mountains, 
and after that along the shores of the 
Turquoise Ocean. The points were 
fairly familiar in his mind, but the jun- 
gle was the main thing that worried him 
— liow he was going to pick his way 
through its weird mass. 

Finally he pushed his compass back in 
place on his back and sw’iftly checked 
over his heavily shielded equipment — 
first-aid pack, down to a common con- 
tainer of smelling salts, tabloid provi- 
sions, and an oxygen- jet pistol, the only 
practicable weapon of destruction in an 
atmosphere containing vast preponder- 
ances of hydrogen and ammonia. Not 
much equipment, but enough in a world 



where every scrap of weight added to 
an already crushing burden. 

Cardew braced himself and emerged 
from his protection into the full blast of 
the cternM wnind. Since dawn bad ar- 
rived about an hour ago, he had about 
eight clear hours in which to make fur- 
ther progress; with a bit of luck he 
might reach the Fishnet Jungle in that 
time. That it was already quite visible 
to him in the weak daylight filtering 
through the writhing clouds signified 
nothing. There were always the tycane 
and the constant down-drag to be reck- 
oned with. He moved with labored ef- 
fort, the strain bathing him in perspira- 
tion inside bis hot, heavy suit. 

To the rear, now far distant, gleamed 
the sunken dome of the penal settlement, 
and farther away still the governor’s 
habitation. To left and right there was 
naught but hard red ground. Once it 
had ail been like the Red Spot; now it 
had cooled to produce an effect as dreary 
as an3dhing that could be imagined. 

Only the Fishnet Jungle, with its 
blunted treds and weird tracery 
branches — from which the fanciful name 
was derived — provided any relief in the 
otherwise crushed monotony. Even the 
highest summit of the distant Seven 
Peak Mountains only reached a thou- 
sand feet in height, held down by the 
mighty gravitation. 

Cardew struggled on, forcing his 
weight-anguished body into the teeth of 
the tycane. He found it hard to believe 
that the wdnd outside his helmet was ab- 
solute poison, that the trees of the dis- 
tant jungle were basically ammonium 
carbonate, living in a temperature of a 
hundred and twenty degrees below cen- 
tigrade zero. . . . 

Mad, idiotic world ! It was populated, 
too, by creatures as mad as their en- 
vironment. Cardew had heard of them 
— mighty strong things with a fairly 
high scientific intelligence — knowm as 
tlie joherc, derived from Jovian Her- 
cules. Where they abided, however, was 



PENAL WORLD 



113 



something of a mystery, since they were 
rarely seen on the surface. 

GRUNTING WITH EFFORT, 
Cardew went on slowly, slipping and 
sliding on ground of enormous hardness, 
one wary eye fixed on the distant, quiv- 
ering upspoutings of molten matter from 
the Great Red Spot. No telling when 
it might decide to erupt. It had a nasty 
habit now and again of covering thou- 
sands of square miles of Jupiter with 
molten chemicals. That, in a landscape 
normally bitterly cold, produced effects 
almost too cataclysmic for imagination — 
certainly death for a lone traveler. 

Occasionally the fitful gleams of sun- 
light through the dense scurrying clouds 
made the scene even more desolate, 
painted it with weak, washy colors, like 
some redstone plane of Earth at twilight. 
Gloom, depression and barrenness — 
mighty Jove had all these attributes. 

Cardew stopped only once, to nour- 
ish himself, on his journey toward the 
jungle. He moved a switch on his hel- 
met and a spring, releasing itself, 
dropped into his open mouth a vitamin 
pellet, following it with a rejuvenating 
drink-essence tablet. Neither of them 
were more than quarter of a centimeter 
in size, but so potent in effect that he 
felt renewed strength surge into his ach- 
ing limbs. 

He rose up again from the rock 
against which he had been lounging and 
staggered on — onward all through the 
drab afternoon, battling the eternal 
wind, muttering threats, in good Ameri- 
can, upon Jupiter and all it contained. 

As he had calculated, he reached the 
outskirts of the Fishnet at dusk. The 
twilight was brief, dimmed from murky 
drabness into night, relieved only 
slightly by tire clouded glow of the at- 
tendant moons. 

With lackluster eyes he peered into 
the shadows beneath the Fishnet trees. 
In every direction about their boles 
sprouted the weird below-zero forms of 

AST— « 



Jovian plants, bearing not the vaguest 
relation to Earthly vegetation, but pat- 
terned in some incomprehensible sur- 
realist style, full of bars, cubes, oblongs 
and angles, more crystal then vegeta- 
tional in form. Flowers there were 
none. Jovian vegetation, in the main, 
reproduced itself by fission and lived in 
the slow, creeping style of the unicell. 
There was something almost disgusting 
about the way the growths occasionally 
popped noisily and became two, growing 
with extreme slowness thereafter toward 
maturity and further reproduction. Car- 
dew heard them bisect quite distinctly 
through his sensitive external helmet de- 
tector as he plodded onward 

Until he gained a Fishnet tree with 

branches lower than the rest To 

scramble into them, though they were 
only six feet from the ground, demanded 
enormous effort — took thirty minutes of 
muscle-wrenching strain. But once he 
was in their firmly spread, bedlike mass 
he relaxed with a sigh, satisfied that he 
was safe from the weird ammoniacal 
crawlers. 

Beyond a wish that he could get out 
of his space suit and have a real breath 
of honest fresh air, he had no regrets. 
So far, so good. His eyes closed with 
leaden weariness ; the tree branch moved 
up and down in the grip of the tycane 
slowly, ceaselessly — ^ — 

As he half dozed, the detector phones 
brought in a medley of vaguely familiar 
noises above the wind’s whine, chief 
amongst which were the weird, half- 
human twitterings of the ostriloath — 
strange birdlike creature crossed vaguely 
between ostrich and sloth — and the 
deep bass grunting of the feather-sphere, 
the porcupine of Jove, rolling every- 
where at terrific speed like a heavily 
flaked cannon ball. Familiar sounds 
ail 

THEN, suddenly, Cardew jolted vio- 
lently upright, wide awake, his heart 
slamming painfully with the sudden in- 



114 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



tensity of his effort, his ears still ringing 
with what had definitely been a human 
shout of fear! 

“Damned delusions !” he breathed 
quickly, staring round and below at the 
crazy jungle. “Couldn’t liave been ” 

He frowned in bewilderment. A 
scream from inside a helmet would be 
carried to the amplifier on the helmet 
exterior; even the slightest cry from 
anybody would be instantly enormously 
amplified by the dense atmosphere. But 
nobody else could be in such a cockeyed 
spot, surely 

Cardew broke off in his quick reflec- 
tions and stared with amazed eyes 
through the clear patch between the 
nearest Fishnet trees. The light of 
Europa shone down through cloud 
breaks upon a space-suited figure lying 
flat on the ground, stiaiggling against 
the gravity to tug out an oxygen pistol. 
A little distance away a hideous little- 
headed sican, violently strong, sheathed 
in an armor plating of frozen scales, 
fixed his intended prey with enormous 
glassy eyes. It was the largest of all 
Jovian animals, measuring five feet in 
leng^th and nearly the same in width. 
Then it began to advance slowly on its 
six immensely powerful legs. 

Almost as quickly as the danger regis- 
tered in Cardew’s mind, he had dropped 
violently to the ground and tugged out 
his own oxygen pistol. With ponder- 
ously dragging feet, the ghastly pull of 
a nightmare’s dragging chains, he tried 
to run forward — fired his gun as he 
went. 

Immediately a vicious stream of dev- 
astating flame spouted through the 
moonlight, momentarily lighted the mad 
glade with bluish-yellow fire. The force 
of the jet struck the sican clean in the 
center of its body, sent it rearing up- 
ward in a sudden paroxysm of searing 
pain. 

Maddened, it twirled round and 
jumped dangerously near the sprawling, 
motionless figure. Then, at another vi- 



cious cut across its hideous face, it 
twisted round and traveled at high speed 
on its enormously strong legs into the 
jungle fastness. 

Cardew felt the sweat of relief sud- 
denly start to pour down his face. He 
replaced his gun and clumped slowly 
forward against the raging wind, turned 
over the prostrate figure with consider- 
able effort. Jerking out his torch, he 
flashed the beam through the dense face 
glass, tlien started back in astonishment 
at beholding the perspiration-dewed 
face of a girl, eyes closed, hair raven- 
dark, lips pale with unconsciousness. 

“Where in Heaven’s name did you 
drop from?” he said in bewilderment. 
Then he turned industriously to his first- 
aid kit and set to work with her helmet 
trappings. Swiftly he uncapped the 
triple valve socket connected to her 
respirator, screw’ed the heavy metal tube 
to the top of his smelling-salt container. 

IMMEDIATELY the powerful aro- 
matic ammonia fumes surged into her 
helmet, set her lips moving with sudden 
revulsion, forced her clear, dark eyes to 
open in sudden alarm. 

“Better?” Cardew whispered into her 
external receiver, as he recapped her 
respirator and laid the salts container 
beside him. 

She nodded weakly. “Yes — I think 
so. I — I don’t know where you’ve 

come from, but it certainly was oppor- 
tune.” She spoke rather shakily in a 
voice that was pleasantly mellow. “I 
thought I was going to make a perfect 
target for the sican!" 

“Not with my oxygen pistol in good 
order.” He smiled. Then, locking his 
arms round her metal-clad waist he 
heaved her to her feet, tier face was 
clearly relieved and grateful in Europa’s 
murky light. 

“I guess that was good of you,” she 
said warmly. “You risked your life. 
Probably you’re thinking I’m an awful 



PENAL WORLD 



115 



fool to pass out like that? Suppose 
we call it plain fright?” 

He ignored her apologies. “Ameri- 
can?” he questioned eagerly. 

She nodded. "By inheritance, yes — 
but born on this ghastly planet through 
no fault of my own. I’m Claire Mason, 
daughter of Hubert Mason, the settle- 
ment governor.” 

He stared at her in amazement; her 
gaze, too, was one of polite inquiry. 

“I’ve heard of you, of course.” He 
hesitated. “Like the rest of the people 
on this ghastly world, you’re its pris- 
oner. But that doesn’t explain what 
you’re doing here all the same.” 

She laughed shortly. “That’s easy ! 
If you’d been born here because your 
father and mother’s social position de- 
manded that they give up all thought of 
Earthly life and devote their lives to this 
planet, what would you do on seeing a 
private, small-sized space machine fall 
two hundred miles to the east? You’d 
head for it, of course! Well, that’s 
what I’m doing. I reckon about three 
weeks before pressure wipes it out. 
Naturally, there are no small ships at 
the settlement — only the useless, heavy 
prison machines, and they’re about 
crushed to powder.” 

She paused and regarded him rather 
naively. “I know you can’t be Dr. 
Livingstone,” she said demurely. “But 
just the same, I suppose you have a 
name ?” 

“I did have a number,” he growled; 
then, more sociably, “James Cardew’s 
my name — escaped prisoner trying to 
get back to Earth to prove my inno- 
cence. I’m heading the same way as 
you are.” 

“Really?” Her voice seemed a little 
cool. She seemed to sense there was 
something not quite right about hob- 
nobbing with an escaped prisoner. 

"I suppose, since the governor’s place 
is twenty miles from the settlement, you 
took a wider route to this jungle?” he 
asked. 



"Obviously,” she said calmly. Then, 
tossing aside her uncertain manner, she 
went on earnestly, "I want to see the 
world I belong to, feel natural instead 
of artificial gravity, breathe fresh air, 
see fields and great cities — New York in 
particular. It must be wonderful!” 
“Not bad,” he admitted reflectively. 
"To get back to Earth — or, rather, to 
visit it for the first time — I’m prepared 
to risk Jupiter drag in the space ship. 
That is, if it’s still space-worthy.” 

"It’ll probably mean death,” he said. 
But she only shrugged inside her huge 
suit. “Supposing it does? Better than 

Jupiter. In fact, I ” 

She stopped short and gave a little 
cry, made a clumsy movement backward 
into Cardew’s protecting right arm. 

“What — what is it?” she gasped in 
alarm, pointing. “Look!” 

He tugged out his gun again. “Take 
it easy,” he murmured. "A joherc, or I 
miss my guess!” 

THEY STOOD motionless, watch- 
ing the fantastic creature that had sud- 
denly appeared in the clearing, plainly 
visible in the now combined lights of 
unclouded Europa and Ganymede. It 
moved cautiously, with a certain oddly 
childlike nervousness quite incongruous 
for such a tremendously powerful body. 

“A joherc, all right,” Cardew 
affirmed. “Heard of ’em many a time, 
and heard their description, but never 
saw one. They’re pretty good scientists 
in their way — maybe a bit dangerous, 
though.” 

Still they watched as the joherc came 
into complete view — a biped, only two 
feet tall, with two legs nearly as thick 
as a man’s body and almost fantastically 
muscled. Further support was pro- 
vided by the broad, kangaroolike tail 
on which it sat ever and again. Its 
remaining anatomy was made up of a 
pear-shaped body, stumpy arms, enor- 
mous pectoral muscles and chest — in 



116 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



which, according to description and re- 
construction at the settlement bureau, 
there beat three powerful hearts to 
create a normal circulation in the eter- 
nal drag. On the mighty shoulders was 
the strange, triple- jointed neck, semi- 
human face with wide, half-grinning 
mouth and scaly head. 

A pure product of anunonia, living 
in a climate ideally suited to it — a living, 
thinking creature of superhuman 
strength and swiftness, mentally active, 
yet humanly childlike in manner — a 
veritable cosmic paradox. 

The two remained motionless as the 
creature advanced. His broad nostrils 
were quivering oddly, scenting some- 
thing. The deeply-set, many-layered 
eyes stared penetratingly round the 
coldly lighted clearing — then suddenly 
espied Cardew’s smelling-salt con- 
tainer! That was enough! Tht joherc 
dived like a flash of gray and seized 
the container in a powerful hand, pick- 
ing out the already half-pressure- 
crushed crystals with the blunt fingers 
of the other, tossing them into his huge 
mouth. 

Qirdew came to life at that and let 
out a yell. “Hey, you! That belongs 
to my kit! Get out of it! Get going!” 

He flung himself forward strainedly 
and snatclied up the container with a 
gloved hand, slammed the cap back on 
top of it. The joherc sat on its broad 
tail, licking its lips complacently. Obvi- 
ously, with its usual phenomenal sense 
of smell, it had detected the crystals 
from a distance. Such a treasure trove, 
though sheer poison to an Earthling, 
was evidently too much to resist. 

“On your way, joherc!” Cardew 
snapped, returning the container to the 
hook on his belt. “No crystals going 
free !” 

The joherc made no move, but his 
keen eyes followed Cardew’s every move 
as he returned to the relieved girl, re- 
placing his pistol in its holster. 



“Obviously not hostile,” was her conj- 
ment. 

He grinned behind his face glass, 
“Not while I have these crystals, any- 
how.” He chuckled. “Try to imagine 
a guy wandering around with a bag of 
priceless gems, not caring much whether 
he had them or not. If you were natur- 
ally decent, would you be hostile? No, 
sir! You’d just stick around on the 
chance of getting some ” 

He stopped and looked about him. 
“What do we do?” he asked. “Stop 
for the night or carry on?” 

She surveyed the jungle’s menacing 
depths. “Might as well carry on, since 
every moment counts. We’ve got to 
find our way through this tangle some- 
how and reach the Seven Peaks. Let’s 
be going.” 

“Suits me !” He fell into clumsy step 
beside her as they began their laborious 
struggle forward into the Europa- and 
Ganymede-lighted madness of the Jovian 
forest 

And behind them, sniffing the am- 
moniated breeze, shooting against the 
enormous gravity with the ease of an 
Earthly kangaroo, came the joherc, odd 
face almost like that of an anxious child, 
as its unmoving gaze watched the bob- 
bing smelling-salt container on Cardew’s 
waist belt 

THE FOREST became sparser as 
the two progressed, but its life teemed 
as furiously as of yore. Here and there 
a deadly lance-stem, fastest growing 
thing in the wilderness, stabbed outward 
with an unbearably cold, daggerlike 
frond, able at close quarters to penetrate 
the thick armor of the space suits. 

Somehow the two avoided the hor- 
rors, only to find themselves constantly 
dodging whizzing feather-spheres and 
jabbering ostriloaths. Ever and again 
they found themselves hurled to the 
ground as the cannon-ball hardness and 
speed of the feather-spheres knocked 
their legs from under them. Nor were 



PENAL WORLD 



117 



their feelings improved at finding the 
joherc not far behind in the moonlight. 

“I wish you’d go away, Jo!” Cardew 
snorted in discomfiture, and his voice 
boomed through his microphone on the 
creature’s tiny ears. “Go play tag with 
the cannon balls ! In plain words, 
scram 1” 

Jo sat on his tail and waited, cast a 
thoughtful pair of eyes toward the now 



vaguely dawn-lighted sky. 

“No go,” Cardew growled to the girl, 
shrugging. “I guess he’ll follow until 
we reach the space ship.” 

They struggled on again. Then, in 
the increasing light, they suddenly saw 
ahead that lance-stems and Fishnets 
were smashing and splintering violently 
under the force of enornious feet. Ex- 
actly as they had expected, a huge speci- 







Fatigued though they were, the two followed him toward 
that ammoniated shore. 




118 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



tnen of the sican genus came blundering 
into view. 

Cardew’s fingers tensed on his oxy- 
gen pistol; but long before he could 
take aim, something shot past him in a 
blur of motion, stumpy arms and hands 
flung wide, blocklike legs tensing into 
bulgings of muscle at each terrific 
spring. 

“Jo!” the girl cried in amazement. 
“Of all the foolhardy things ” 

“Don’t be too sure!” Cardew inter- 
rupted her tensely. “These Jovian 
blighters, especially the bipeds, have got 
strength beyond imagination. Look !” 

He pointed quickly. The johcrc had 
elready seized the powerful sican by 
^he throat, was crushing, with every 
scrap of his enormous, concentrated, 
tight-packed strength, into that leathery 
neck, performing his actions at such a 
terrific rate it was hardly possible to 
follow him. Working against a gravity 
two and a half times more powerful 
than Earth’s, his actions correspond- 
ingly increased in like ratio. 

He was obviously lighter than his an- 
tagonist, and by far the more intelligent. 
The sican finally retreated, thin, aqueous 
humor freezing solid on its thick neck 
as fa.st as it appeared. 

“Bet the air smells even more pun- 
gent than usual outside,” Claire said re- 
flectively as she watched the brute re- 
treat in the now full daylight. “Imag- 
ine bursting a bladder of pure ammonia 
in an atmosphere already thick with it !” 

“I can imagine !” Cardew murmured. 
Then he turned quickly as Jo came 
springing back, grinning hugely. “Nice 
going, Jo!” he exclaimed in gratitude, 
swinging round his smelling-salt con- 
tainer. “Here are some crystals for 
services rendered!” 

THE Jovian’s powerful tail sent him 
thumping to Cardew’s side. The greedy, 
scaled fingers scooped out a dozen of 
the crystals before the pressure had a 
chance to crush them, transferring them 



to his wide mouth with astonishing avid- 
ity. 

“Ammonia, so you say,” he said sud- 
denly in a hoarse voice — and the two 
stared at him blankly. “Your poison. 
Good to me. Block salt extra good. 
Cliffs of it — way there !” He swung his 
blocky arm vaguely. 

“That covers a lot of territory,” Claire 
murmured. 

“Yeah, about two hundred and sixty- 
five thousand miles of it,” Cardew agreed 
dryly. Then he looked at the Jovian in 
puzzlement. “So you talk, eh?” 

“Read mind,” Jo explained briefly. 
“Not very clear — only damn smatter- 
ings. Not sure of position of words 
but meaning get. Read minds easily.” 

“You’re ammonia, aren’t you? 
Formed by pressure and below zero 
temperature ?” 

“For years numbering hundreds,” Jo 
agreed affably. “Eat white salt. Wa- 
ter, you call it. Peroxides, too. Plenty 
of those. And crystals — like I saved 
your life for. You got them.” 

“Hm-m-m,” Cardew murmured, 
frowning. “Strikes me as queer to find 
a fellow like you hopping about on a 
mad world like this, and yet you can 
read thoughts. High' mental develop- 
ment, eh?” 

“Very high,” Jo agreed modestly. “I 
am clever. I have oriental, too. No, 
not oriental — orientation !” 

“What’s that?” Claire asked in puz- 
zlement. 

“Sort — sort of homing instinct com- 
mon in pigeons,” Cardew explained. 
“And you’ve got it, Jo?” 

“You’re right I have! And I smell, 
too !” 

Cardew grinned. “You’re telling us! 
But I suppose you mean you have a 
strong sense of smell ? Well, thanks for 
the help, anyway. We’ve got to be get- 
ting along.” 

“You can’t do without my clever 
ideas,” Jo remarked flatly. “I’m com- 
ing like hell with you.” 



PENAL WORLD 



119 



Cardew winced as he caught sight of 
the girl coolly smiling at him. 

“Seems to be reading your language 
quite well, doesn’t he?’’ she asked 
sweetly. 

He looked anxiously. “Just what 
I’m afraid of! If he happens on the 
language I used at the settlement, he’ll 
set the atmosphere on fire.’’ 

He caught her by the arm, and they 
pushed on again, followed constantly 
by the tireless Jo, occasionally directing 
their path. He stopped only now and 
again to break off pieces of unclassifi- 
able crystallized bark and jam it in his 
mouth. Then, with that same look of 
asinine foolishness on his face, he sprang 
on behind them. 

By another nightfall they had cleared 
the jungle — ^but away to the west, under 
the lowering sky, there beat scarlet 
tremblings and pulsings. 

“Guess we ought to rest, but I don’t 
like risking it with that going on,” Car- 
dew muttered wearily. 

“The Great Red Spot, eh?” Claire 
mused. 

“Correct. And from the look of 
things, it’s in a state of eruption. It 
may mean a thousand-mile flood of de- 
struction. Coming our way, tool Eh, 
Jo?” 

THE JOHERC fixed his odd eyes 
on the disturbance. “Better step on 
hurry,” he suggested anxiously. “Give 
yourselves gas, I imagine. The way is 
straight ; I know it.” 

“What way?” Cardew demanded ir- 
ritably. “For Heaven’s sake, pick your 
words straight, Jo! Can we rest, or is 
the danger too great?” 

“I’ll say!” Jo responded surprisingly. 
“Straight is the way to Seven Peaks, 
and then to Turquoise Sea and oxygen 
block cliffs — out to space ship. That’s 
where you head?” 

“Sure, but how did you know?” Car- 
dew shrugged wearily. “Oh, I’d for- 
gotten your thought reading for the mo- 



ment. If you know the way, why didn’t 
you say so in the first place ?” 

Jo didn’t answer the question. In- 
stead, he said slyly, “Way guided for 
crystals only. Like hell I want them 
now. Step on it !” 

Cardew grimaced and handed him 
some more from the container. 

“There you are. Now lead on.” 

Jo needed no second bidding. He 
leajied forward with astounding energy, 
leading the way across the barren red 
plain in the direction of the main giant 
cleft in the Seven Peak range. Weary, 
unutterably leaden, the two jogged after 
him. Then, suddenly, Claire, exhausted 
beyond measure, could stand it no 
longer. She sank weakly to the ground. 
“It’s no good; I can’t make it!” she 
panted, her face pale and strained in the 
Europa light. 

Cardew braced himself against the 
screaming wind and looked down at her 
in perplexity. Certainly he could not 
carry her; his own weight was severe 
enough. He glanced anxiously to the 
rear and beheld visible streams of red- 
ness crawling through the night — sear- 
ing overflows from the erupting Spot. 
Once through the cleft there would be 

safety, but here To wait until dawn 

meant certain death. 

“Only another few miles, Claire!” he 
implored desperately. “We’ve got to 
make it ! It’s the difference between life 
and death ” 

She did not answer — only lay fiat and 
relaxed. 

Then Jo descended from the gloom. 
“No dice?” he questioned anxiously. 
“Oaire lie down?” 

“It’s the damned gravity,” Cardew 
growled. “We’re not used to it.” 

Jo did not respond. Without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation he bent down and 
hauled the girl, space suit and ail, onto 
his broad left shoulder ; then, before 
Cardew could grasp the situation, he 
was treated likewise on the other shoul- 
der. The next thing he knew he was 



120 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



flying through the air with dizzying 
speed, heart and lungs strained to the 
uttermost by the upward pulls against 
the gravity. 

“Trifles mere!” Jo tossed out enthusi- 
astically, vaulting mightily with legs and 
tail. “I have clever brain and big legs. 
Strength in large size. Get you safe, 
or else ” 

Cardew couldn’t reply; he was too 
strained for that. But the apparent 
marvel of Jo’s activity soon vanished 
from his mind. The odd creature, gifted 
by Nature with a complex brain in 
which there ran a decided streak of gen- 
erosity, was deliberately risking his own 
life to save two people of another world 
— unless it was for love of the smelling 
salts. The extraordinary nature of his 
gpant strength became more and more 
evident as time passed. He seemed to 
regard the weight on his shoulders with 
no more concern than a man would 
trouble over a couple of canaries. 

And he kept it up, mixing American 
slang with observations of considerable 
scientific significance ever and again — 
until at last the mountain cleft was 
readied and all possible danger from the 
overflowing Red Spot was far behind. 

AHEAD, in the light of the moons, 
lay the amazing Turquoise Ocean, 
greeny blue in the pale light — enormous 
in extent, pure ammonia, its heavy, tur- 
gid waves thundering ear-splittingly on 
a beach that was red rock, backed to the 
rear with crawling cliffs of white, frozen 
oxygen. 

Here Jo stopped and dropped his bur- 
dens rather violently on the shore. Like 
a gray streak, he headed toward the 
cliffs and began tearing at their frozen 
hardness, until, at last, he wrested free 
a jagged, splintering square. 

By the time Cardew and the girl had 
sat up, he was eating the stuff hungrily. 
When at last he finished, he came for- 
ward rather sheepishly. 

“The eats,” he explained. 



Cardew nodded as he and Claire al- 
lowed tabloids to drop into their own 
mouths. “Not surprised, old man. 
Guess I’d never get used to your diet 
any more than you’d get used to mine. 
Incidentally, how much further shall we 
have to go after staying the night?” 

“No further. Space ship right here.” 

“Here!” Cardew looked round in 
puzzlement. He only saw the bleak 
desolation of that ammoniated shore. 
“Think again, Jo!” he said. “I reckon 
we’ve another hundred and fifty miles 
to cover at least.” 

“Get wise to yourself!” Jo suggested 
calmly. Then he motioned, with his 
thick arm, toward the cliffs. 

Fatigued though they were, the two 
got to their feet and followed him, stop- 
ping finally before the argent masses. 
Jo pointed to the red ground and 
grinned gleefully. 

Cardew started and the girl gave a 
little cry as they beheld a mighty circle 
of metal, apparently similar to itanium, 
sunken into the redness — a colossal 
manhole cover. 

“We live below,” Jo explained calmly. 
“Rarely come up except for special rea- 
son. Two reasons this time. We have 
many instruments. They showed us 
space ship fall and two people leaving 
prison settlement. I was told to get the 
lot — ^you and space ship.” 

CARDEW felt something clutch at 
his heart. “You — ^j'ou damned traitor- 
ous little horror!” he burst out. “You 
mean you’ve kept up with us all this 
time so you could turn us into your rot- 
ten underworld? Why, you ” 

“Keep on shirt!” Jo interrupted 
quickly. “No captives. I could easily 
lose you. Our leader wants you, sure — 
but I don’t. Prefer to help. Very 
clever and generous; that’s me.” 

“You mean you’ll let us go?” Claire 
asked anxiously. 

“You betcha!” 

“But how can we — ^without a space 



PENAL WORLD 



121 



ship?” Cardew yelped. "You say you 

were told to capture it ” 

“I did; it’s down below — ^but only in 
the first gallery. I can get it. Now you 
know how came I on the surface to meet 
you. Obeying orders.” 

“That’s clear enough.” Cardew nod- 
ded tensely. “But about the ship. You 
say it’s below. Did you drive it here?” 
“I can do anything. I carried it.” 
"Carried it?” Cardew’s voice was 
faint with amazement. 

"Sure. Damned easy! I’ll show 
you.” 

The two stood aside and watched, in 
bewilderment, as he locked his hand in 
the manhole’s ring and pulled with all 
his power. By degrees the great valve 
rose upward under his enormous 
strength until it was vertical. Then he 
jumped down into a cavernous pit. 

For nearly five minutes the two 
waited; then they both gasped in sur- 
prise as the familiar, blunted nose of a 
small private space flier began to appear. 
Little by little the whole ship began to 
emerge, thrust up the long pit incline by 
Jo’s tremendous muscles. When at last 
it was on the flat ground he looked at 
them anxiously. 

“Down below it was safe from pres- 
sure for much longer time than up,” , he 
explained. “Better go quick, scram. 
Very light to me — almost vacuum.” 
Cardew quickly looked the ship over. 
It was only dented from its earlier fall. 
He turned to Jo. “Did you manage to 
find out who it belonged to?”^ 

“Sure. Two people like you — Pluto 
travelers. Caught in drag and crashed 
— necks broken. I read their brains be- 
fore I threw them outside. Darned 
smart of me, and then some!” 

Cardew looked at him gratefully. 
"You’re a great scout, Jo,” he said 
warmly. “I only wish I could repay 



your generosity. Your orientation was 
right, by the way. How the devil you 
knew your way to these cliffs from the 
Fishnet is more than I can figure.” 

Jo’s huge mouth grinned expansively. 
"Oriental sense .first class,” he agreed 
modestly. “You carbohydrates — me 
ammonia, but we think regular. Darned 
good race mine. Wish I could come 
with you, but your world would let my 
compressed body blow apart. No dice 
and deep regrets offered right now.” 
“There must be soinething we can 
do !” the girl insisted, turning toward the 
space ship’s air lock. 

“Perhaps — crystals?” Jo said almost 
shyly. 

Laughing, Cardew unhooked the con- 
tainer from his belt and tossed it over. 
Then, with a final farewell, he and the 
girl passed inside the vessel and screwed 
up the air lock. 

Once their stifling suits were re- 
moved, Cardew fired the rocket tubes. 
With a grinding roar, the ship tore furi- 
ously against the gravity; the terrific 
drag of Jupiter made itself evident in- 
stantly, a drag mounting with every sec- 
ond that the ship boomed and exploded 
upward from that titanic world. 

In eight minutes both Claire and Car- 
dew were unconscious, robot machinery 
alone firing the tubes. Then, little by 
little, as the distance increased and the 
gravity correspondingly lessened, they 
came out of insensibility, to find Jupiter 
a vast, banded disk behind them. Ahead 
was the void with the single green star 
of Earth plainly visible in the firmament. 

“We made it!” Cardew breathed 
thankfully. “We actually made it!” 
"Thanks to Jo,” the girl put in qui- 
etly. “I shall never see smelling salts 
again but what I’ll think of him.” 
Cardew did not answer, but he w'as 
smiling. 



NOTICE — This magazine contains new 
stories only. No reprints are used. 




The domain of the folk from the Red Planet was swiftly being flooded with 
air that bore a deadly taint of poison 





A Novel 

Stardust Gods 



by Dow Elstar and 

N o HUMAN EYES saw the 
■ Green Star fall. For an April 
blizzard was tearing over the 
mid-Westem States. The night was a 
chaos of wind and snow and thick dark- 
ness. 



Robert S. McCready 

No one in the little city of LaBelle 
noticed the dreamy roar and crackle of 
the visitor as it streaked down through 
the storm-tortured atmosphere. For a 
moment the sky was illumined by a 
green radiance. 




124 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



But old Bill Stevens, who was the 
only person in that vicinity, was asleep 
in his shack. Had he been awake and 
sober, he might have called the phe- 
nomenon a flash of freak lightning. Or 
he might have thought that a power line 
somewhere had developed a “short.” 

The Green Star struck the ground in 
Fenton’s woods. Pushed by the terrific 
puff of air radiating from the point of 
impact, a dozen trees crashed to the 
ground. Snow geysered up in a cloud 
of hot steam. Sod and earth spattered 
like jelly hit by a bullet. 

Still, though the jolt of landing must 
have been transmitted for miles through 
solid rock and soil, it was masked by 
the howl and rattle of the storm. Thus 
the Green Star’s arrival remained un- 
heralded. It is unlikely, however, that 
even an immediate detection of that ar- 
rival could have produced any great dif- 
ference of result. 

Up to a point there was nothing truly 
novel about the visitor. Meteorites of 
large size, while rare, are not unknown. 
And the Green Star could best be de- 
scrilied as a meteorite. 

The visitor’s shape was crudely that 
of a drop of water, distorted from its 
normal, spherical form by the action of 
gravity. Its large, anterior end was 
rounded ; its smaller, posterior extrem- 
ity was tapered to a point. But if this 
apparent attempt at streamlining was in- 
tentional and not merely the product of 
chance, there was little evidence to sub- 
stantiate such a theory. 

The Green Star was rough and jag- 
ged, like any meteorite.' And like any 
freshly arrived chunk of refuse from the 
void, it must have been chilled through 
to the core, for the glare of incandes- 
cence emanated by its surface, which 
had been heated by atmospheric friction, 
was fading out very rapidly. The in- 
tense green light, indicating a tempera- 
ture of thousands of degrees centigrade, 
dimmed almost to the point of invisibil- 
ity in a matter of a few seconds. 



IT WAS THEN, and only then, that 
the Green Star demonstrated its first 
definite signs of uniqueness. It was 
faintly phosphorescent, throwing off, 
even when cold, a dim, grayish-green 
luminescence. This glow was strong 
enough to reveal in silhouette the eccen- 
tric traceries of inert iron and nickel 
veining the more uniform gray slag of 
its composition. 

This slag looked like plain graphite, 
except that it was luminous, as de- 
scribed. Under close inspection it 
would have revealed an intricate crys- 
talline structure; its mass was rather 
large; and its spectrum, if examined, 
would have betrayed the presence of 
elements of great density, unknown to 
human science. But such knowledge 
would have given a man only the vagu- 
est glimmerings of understanding. 

In the slag, apparently akin to the 
lifeless rocks of the Earth, and as in- 
sensitive to both heat and cold as any 
inorganic material, processes went on 
which would have dimmed by compari- 
son the thoughts of the keenest human 
brain. It pulsed with life of a differ- 
ent order than that of Earth ; but there 
was nothing supernormal about its 
metabolism. It approached its prob- 
lems as does a man, seeking, with logic 
and comprehension, to direct and con- 
trol natural law to suit its desires. But 
because the senses and powers at its 
command were far removed from those 
familiar to human beings in many re- 
spects, its methods were utterly un- 
Earthly. In its researches it had never 
employed intricate artificial instru- 
ments; for it could “feel” the inmost 
texture and composition of matter and 
energy. In place of hands with which 
to accomplish its work, it possessed a 
natural command of etheric vibrations, 
magnetic forces, and corpuscular ema- 
nations, which it could create at will out 
of the subatomic processes that were the 
essence of its life. 

The meteoric missile lay, for several 



STARDUST GODS 



125 



minutes, without change or motion, in 
tlie pit it had blasted in the ground. 
Then, with sharp, pinging, tinkling 
noises, minute crystals began to break 
away from the parent mass. The crys- 
tals flew in every direction. The process 
seemed outwardly quite similar to that 
of the chipping and scaling of fresh 
glaze from a jar that has just been re- 
moved from the kiln and has been sub- 
jected to a too-sudden cooling. 

The strange activity increased in 
vigor. The Green Star was dissoK’ing, 
and a phosphorescent halo, formed of 
crystals as fine as granules of sand, 
gathered in the snow-laden air around 
it. That the crystals did not fall and 
did not submit to the buffeting of the 
fierce \vind was sufficient indication of 
the presence of some sort of intelligent 
application of energy. 

At last nothing remained of the Green 
Star but a few scraps of iron and nickel, 
lying, useless and discarded, at the bot- 
tom of the pit. The transgalactic visi- 
tor had broken up, and now the myriad 
tiny fragments of it moved off in a 
ghostly swarm toward the undamaged 
portion of Fenton’s woods. 

Certainly their driving energy was 
subatomic in origin — coming from the 
controlled breaking down of atoms 
within the substance of each fragment. 
Perhaps it functioned through the sim- 
ple reaction principle, expounded by 
Newton, and well-known in connection 
with rockets. Maybe the tiny spurts of 
phosphorescence from the sharp corners 
and edges of the crystals were blasts 
of electrons or protons or neutrons, dis- 
charged from disrupted atoms and pro- 
viding a propulsive and sustaining 
thrust. 

GLOWING WEIRDLY, the cloud 
of crystals wavered and streamed 
through the creaking treetops of Fen- 
ton’s woods, like a vast swarm of fire- 
flies. Each minute piece of the Green 
Star now doubtless constituted a sepa- 



rate entity, though it was evident that 
the members of the horde were still 
working in close cooperation. Tinkling 
and muttering querulously, like a host 
of excited elves, they clustered now 
around a towering oak, as if the mag- 
nificence and oddity of this giant speci- 
men of Earthly flora appealed to some 
outlandish curiosity engrained within 
them. 

But the inspection, if inspection it 
was, was brief. The alien horde moved 
on across a pasture and , a last year’s 
cornfield, both unrecognizable now in 
the screaming holocaust of the blizzard. 

Presently old Bill .Stevens’ tumble- 
down habitation, two miles from, the 
place where tlie Green Star had fallen, 
was reached. The crystals crowded, 
like a will-o’-the-wisp, at one of the 
patched and darkened windows. 

Within the shack. Bill’s dachshund, 
aroused by the glow at the window, and 
by the soft, eerie sounds made by the 
invaders, gave a low whine of terror. 

But Bill himself was left to dreani his 
alcoholic dreams undisturbed. 

Breasting wind and snow with little 
effort, the horde proceeded on its way, 
and was soon close above I.^Belle. It 
was two thirty a. m. The streets were 
deserted. 

Again there were what seemed inter- 
ested if short inspections of this and 
that. There were several cars, smoth- 
ered with snow, parked at the curbs, 
looking lonely and forlorn in the light 
of the street lanjps. These were in- 
vestigated briefly, as were tire pumps of 
a filling station, the steeple of a church, 
and various other things. 

The street lamps received special at- 
tention ; for maybe in them the intruders 
found an obstacle to the achievement of 
their purpose, perhaps divining this by 
means of senses unknown to man. 

At any rate, a prompt and sentient, 
if puzzling response resulted from the 
investigation of the Terrestrial illumi- 
nating devices. The horde swirled un- 



126 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



erringly out to the edge of the little city. 
Here, along a drift-blocked highway, 
stood the tall poles which supported the 
power lines. 

Now the phosphorescent crystals 
formed themselves into a rotating cone 
that spun with frightful speed, drag- 
ging air with it to produce what was, 
in effect, a miniature yet tremendously 
violent tornado. Screaming shrilly, the 
vortex moved forward, snapping the 
high-tension wires as easily as a flying 
buzz saw might have done. 

THE stormy blur of radiance over 
LaBelle was replaced at once by mask- 
ing gloom as the street lights winked 
out. With all electrical Interference now 
disposed of, the scheme of the intruders 
could be put into effect without danger 
of miscarriage. 

The minute crystals of the swarm had, 
since the disruption of the Green Star, 
increased a trifle in size, perhaps assimi- 
lating the gaseous substance of the at- 
mosphere, rebuilding atoms of oxygen 
and nitrogen to form the heavier atoms 
of the elements required for their 
growth. Each crystal might thus have 
multiplied its mass and bulk indefinitely, 
perhaps repeating at last the peculiar 
reproductive division that had produced 
the horde. 

Now the latter scattered and thinned, 
the countless units that composed it dis- 
persing to take up regularly spaced posi- 
tions over the entire city, as well as a 
large part of the surrounding country- 
side. They were like ranks of soldiery 
awaiting the command to attack. 

At once their slumberous phosphores- 
cence increased in intensity, becoming 
dazzling and hot. But heat and light 
were only coincident products of more 
significant phenomena. Almost all mo- 
tion in the area guarded by the host of 
crystals came to an end. Falling snow- 
flakes were halted in their fall. The 
wind in and around LaBelle was 
checked, as if the very atmosphere itself 



was held rigid by a giant power. The 
few creatures in the guarded region, hu- 
mans and animals alike, who were 
awake at that time, lost consciousness 
immediately, their hearts and pulses 
slowed almost to the point of death; 
and those who slept fell into a still 
deeper sleep. So subtle was the strange 
seizure that afterward no one could re- 
call its approach. 

The crystals continued to burn 
brighter and brighter, consuming a small 
portion of their atomic substance in a 
terrific and precisely calculated output 
of energy. Responding to the green- 
ish glare, everything beneath the alien 
host took on a dully glowing fluores- 
cence — a fluorescence which seemed to 
assume the shape of all objects and 
things it touched, as wet plaster assumes 
the shape of a mold. 

Perhaps ten minutes went by, during 
which the fluorescence gradually waxed 
and brightened. Then, from LaBelle 
and its environs a mirage arose — a 
bizarre, frosty, glowing ghost of the lit- 
tle city and the neighboring, snow-clad 
country. Houses, streets, cars, fields, 
hills and trees were all perfectly repro- 
duced in it, like parts of some vast, 
three-dimensional photograph. And 
though they were hidden within the 
buildings, it is to be assumed that the 
human beings and animals were simi- 
larly duplicated, complete to the last vi- 
tal and essential detail. Even some 
pattern of the invisible atmosphere, and 
of the snowflakes held rigidly in it, was 
congealed in the tenuous reproduction, 
which had been taken from the almost 
moveless original. 

RIGID and unchanging, the mirage 
was hoisted into the chaotic sky by the 
rising children of the Green Star, who 
still maintained their evenly spaced 
formation. 

And beneath lay the real LaBelle and 
its surroundings, both unaltered, except 
that everything in them had lost per- 



STARDUST GODS 



127 



haps one billionth of its mass. One 
atom in a billion had been stolen to 
form a pattern from which new build- 
ings, people, trees, and so forth, identi- 
cal to the old, could be recreated by the 
infusion of the necessary matter. Noth- 
ing had been really harmed or injured 
by the weird miracle. 

The crystal horde bore its booty up- 
ward, clear of the storm, clear of the 
atmosphere of Earth. The void was all 
around now, black and awesome, and 
eerie with star shine. There was no 
friction in the empty ether. The crys- 
tals spat emerald sparks as they began 
to accelerate with their thin though 
mighty load. 

Fuzzy and faint ahead lay the galaxy 
in the girdle of the chained woman of 
the sky, the constellation Andromeda. 
That galaxy was unthinkable light years 
away. But the destination of the 
strange robber band was far beyond 
that misty mass of suns, lying in a uni- 
verse outside the range of Earth’s best 
telescopes. How long would it take to 
complete the journey, even at colossal 
speed? A million years — two million? 

Perhaps this is a naive question. 
What can time or distance mean to 
entities as ageless, almost, as stone kept 
in a vacuum, and to wisdom that is 
sifting out the last scattered secrets of 
all that is, or ever can be, and is ap- 
proaching the ultimate goal of omni- 
science? The crystals needed only to 
bum up a portion of their substance 
to attain the required velocity ; then 
they could coast on, inert and unchang- 
ing, except for the small output of 
energy needed to bind and keep inctact 
the form of the mirage they were trans- 
porting. 

There had been four Green Stars. 
One had visited each of the four planets 
of the solar system that supported life. 
From Venus, Mars, and Jupiter, as well 
as from Earth, tenuous ghosts of highly 
organized solids, liquids and gases were 
speeding, to keep a mighty tryst 



II. 

OLD BILL STEVENS was ordi- 
narily not an easy individual to arouse, 
once he had gone to bed. 

Schnitzel was likely to be tolerant of 
his master’s idiosyncrasies ; but now 
Schnitzel was worried. There was an 
ominous smell in the air that tingled un- 
pleasantly in Schnitzel’s sensitive nose. 
He knew by instinct that in that odor 
there was a threat of death. Moreover, 
the light, streaming in through the dirty 
windowpanes, was wrong; it was too 
red and dull. Also, Schnitzel had 
memories of certain weird, nocturnal 
events that had rendered him almost 
dumb with fright. 

Schnitzel arose from his position at 
the foot of the bed and scrambled awk- 
wardly forward on his short legs, to 
cuddle his long, brown body warningly 
against old Bill’s side. 

This produced no satisfactory effect; 
so Schnitzel opened his mouth and 
voiced a protracted canine howl that 
sounded like murder in a Punch-and- 
Judy show. As soon as he could re- 
cover his breath. Schnitzel repeated the 
mournful and laughable ululation. 

Old Bill Stevens cursed and mum- 
bled thickly. Then he turned over in 
an effort to find a more comfortable 
position in which to continue his snooze, 
and tried to draw the ragged quilts over 
his head. But Schnitzel’s tongue, long 
and moist and effective, found Bill’s face 
in a gesture of apology and pleading. 

Bill Stevens sputtered and sat up, 
wiping his lips with the back of a hairy 
hand. He rubbed the back of his head, 
as if to clear his brain, dull from sleep 
and a mighty hangover. His bushy 
brows wrinkled questioningly. 

“What’s up, Schnitz?” he grumbled. 
“Got the heebeegeebees, or somethin’?” 

Schnitzel bounced and bobbed ludi- 
crously on the torn and soiled bed cover- 
ings. His long, limp ears flapped, and 
his eyes, brown and soft as those of an 



128 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



angel from dog heaven, expressed at 
once troubled concern and jubilance at 
his success in awakening his master. 

Bill's blurred gaze traveled around 
the untidy interior of the shack, halting 
at last at one of the windows. Immedi- 
ately there was a subtle change in the 
old man’s languid attitude. He didn’t 
l)etray any evidence of wild excitement, 
even though what he beheld was ample 
excuse for so doing. And he didn’t 
seem to be paralyzed with consternation, 
eitlxT. But his gaunt, powerful frame, 
a moment ago derelict and hopeless and 
indolent, appeared abruptly to take on 
the poise of purpose and interest that 
had not animated it since a certain hectic 
squabble in France. 

“Much obliged. Schnitz,’’ he rumbled 
quietly to the little dachshund. “Reckon 
you were right in routin’ me out.’’ 

QUICKLY, Bill swung his long legs, 
clad in heavy, winter underwear, out of 
bed, and pulled on his trousers, socks 
and boots. 

Not until then did he move close to 
the window, beyond which gigantic 
mountains reared, ominous and jagged 
and unfamiliar, in an illumination as 
different from the daylight he had al- 
ways known as the ruddy glare of 
heated iron differs from the yellow 
flame of burning •sodium. Like Schnit- 
zel, whining plaintively beside him. Bill 
could sense the lurking presence of the 
threat of death. 

■ Even before he began a careful 
scrutiny of the scene within view, he 
proceeded to analyze that uneasy feel- 
itig. The air in the shack was dense 
and humid and warm. In it there was 
a mixture of odors that reminded Bill 
of other, earlier experiences of his life. 
In his fancy he was standing again- on 
the soggy duck boards of a trench; he 
■was hearing the dull cr-r-rump of gas 
shells, and br-r-r-r of a warning horn. 

' And he was seeing blobs of poisonous, 

1 chemical fog, spreading and flattening. 



The present odors were faint — too 
faint to demand active attention as yet, 
even if there had been any means, which 
he could think of at the moment, to make 
• such attention possible. 

Now Bill surveyed what lay beyond 
the smeary window. The mountains 
were there beyond doubt, even though, 
to the best of his knowledge, they must 
have sprouted over night. At their 
bases, visible through a greenish-yellow 
murk, was a jagged plain of gray, 
pumicelike stone. Nearer, the plain 
ended in an abrupt drop, forming a sort 
of cliff, the face of which was glassy 
and smooth, as if fused by terrific heat. 

Looking to right and left. Bill saw 
that the cliff continued around in an 
arc, forming the walls of an immense 
pit, the bottom of which, even in this 
hell of incomprehensible miracles, 
cupped familiar things! Off to the left, 
a couple of miles away, was Fenton’s 
woods. In an opposite direction, and 
at a somewhat lesser distance, lay La- 
Belle ! The red illumination, which 
found its way to the ground through a 
miasmic fog, was of a quality that made 
it seem artificial, and lent an alien cast 
even to landmarks well known to Bill. 

THEN he saw a sun, huge and red, 
rising in the gap between two monster 
mountain peaks. A little higher up, and 
apparently smaller, though this latter 
condition was probably due to a greater 
distance, was a second orb. quite like 
the first. Both were fuzzy and blurred ; 
nor was this entirely an atmospheric 
phenomenon, caused locally by the murk 
in the air. These twin, or binary, suns 
were not ruddy because they had passed 
the hot glory of their prime ; rather, as 
the age of stars is measured, they were 
very new, having just contracted from 
the tenuous nebular stage. Wispy rings 
of nebulous matter still belted the equa- 
tors of both. In ages to come, these 
suns would contract farther and grow 
hotter. The metallic vapors now in their 



STARDUST GODS 



129 



pliotospheres, blocking their internal 
light, would sink to their centers, and 
they would shine, first, with a yellow 
light, and then with the dazzling, bluish 
glare of incandescent hydrogen, becom- 
ing stars of the Sirian classification. 

Bill Stevens had no claim to scientific 
erudition. But he was aware that 
neither of these hot bodies was the.old 
familiar Sun of Earth. This was addi- 
tional proof that the wild, mountainous 
terrain around the vast, cliff-encircled 
hole did not belong to Earth at all, but 
to another planet! 

What, then, was he. Bill Stevens, 
doing here? And how could anything 
as huge as LaBelle and its surroundings 
be transported here intact? 

Bill was badly mixed up by the jum- 
bling of incongruous elements; but his 
phlegmatic nature enabled him to keep 
a firm hold on himself. He studied 
near-by things intently. 

Almost imperceptibly the haze in the 
sky above was thickening. The death 
smells in the air were a trifle stronger 
now. Up high in the red light Bill saw 
a swirling cloud of specks that were like 
nothing he had ever seen before. From 
that cloud came disquieting sounds that 
resembled the distant and muffled bab- 
bling of an excited multitude. And 
over LaBelle Bill could make out other, 
much larger swarms of specks that 
seemed, somehow, in some strange way 
of theirs, to echo the loud, Insistent 
clanging of the ancient and for-years- 
unused fire gong, which some one was 
pounding, doubtless to warn late sleep- 
ers of what had happened. 

BILL knew the need for hurry if the 
problem of his personal survival was 
to be surmounted. There was a taint 
of chlorine in every breath he drew into 
his lungs, and that taint was increas- 
ing. The pungent, suffocating odor of 
it was faint and disquieting in his nos- 
trils, mixed with other pungent, suffo- 
cating odors. Among them there was 

AST— 9 



just the dimmest suggestion of an 
effluvium not unlike that of green corn 
that had been crushed. It was the odor 
of carbonyl chloride, or phosgene, most 
subtle and treacherous of the gases em- 
ployed during the War days that Bill 
remembered. 

Yes, there was need for hurry all 
right! These virulent poisons must 
exist naturally here. 

But in spite of the throbbing misery 
in his head. Bill was hungry. So, ap- 
plying common horse sense to circum- 
stance, in so far as the question of his 
next move was concerned, he proceeded 
to rustle up some breakfast. A man 
couldn’t do his best on an empty stom- 
ach. Bill Stevens could get a lot of 
bread, sausage and cold coffee inside 
himself in as short a space as thirty 
seconds. 

“Big days have come back, Schnit- 
zie !’’ he declared pleasantly, as he tossed 
a hunk of sausage to the dachshund, 
whose instinctive fears were somewhat 
allayed by his master’s coolness. 

And from Bill Stevens’ viewpoint, 
perliaps truer words could not have been 
spoken. The old reprobate didn’t real- 
ize it; but since the World War he had 
been a social misfit. Trench life had 
made him too hard and too cynical. Bill 
despised luxuries ; money was not 
worth the trouble it took to get, and 
pride was a mere nothing. 

But now. mystery and horror and 
sudden death were real things again. 
There were people to protect, and unim- 
aginable forces to combat. Bill Stevens 
was rejuvenated. 

With food safely under his belt, the 
old adventurer yanked a faded red 
sweater over his broad shoulders and 
crammed a crumpled black hat, badly 
chewed by Schnitzel, over his tangle of 
white hair. A stubby Winchester, its 
blued barrel worn silvery in spots from 
many hunting seasons of service, was 
taken from its case with a care that 
was bora of love. 



130 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



"Come on, Schnitz,” Bill ordered. 'T 
reckon we got to go to town.” 

A MINUTE or so later his ancient 
car was headed toward LaBelle. As he 
drove along the concrete highway, Bill 
glanced to right and left at the thickening 
but still faint haze. He crouched a lit- 
tle. His chest was beginning to feel as 
though he were catching a bad cold. 
Chlorine did that. Bill stepped down 
hard on the accelerator. His jaw was 
set in a hard line, and the light of the 
red suns glinted in fierce reflection in 
his small blue eyes. 

“Mr. Edwin Davis, Schnitzie,” he 
said. “Kind of a high-fallutin’ fella, I 
hear, but we got to talk to him.” 

It didn’t take Bill long to reach Ed- 
win Davis’ residence and workshop, for 
he allowed none of the mad miracles 
which he saw along the way divert him ; 
and he would have got inside if he had 
to break down the doors. 

Ed Davis was young and rather nice- 
looking. But to put it mildly, he was 
not at his best now. It was with difficulty 
that he controlled his voice when he 
^replied to Bill’s soft yet grim sugges- 
tions. 

“Help?” Davis demanded incredu- 
lously. “How ? I don't pretend to un- 
derstand much of what it is that’s hap- 
pened ; but I know some of the things 
that we’re up against. I was awakened 
before dawn by a queer, humming 
sound ; I saw that everything was a 
mess of green fire, and that the air was 
full of those gray, living crystals. There 
was no heat in the fire, and after a few 
seconds it died out. It wasn’t till then 
that I noticed people were screaming 
as though they were watching the end 
of the world. And as far as any one in 
LaBelle is concerned, that’s perfectly 
true! Do you know where we are?” 

Bill nodded hesitantly, for he was a 
bit out of his depth. “Some other 
planet, I guess,” he rumbled. “Maybe 
Mars, or somethin’.” 



Davis shook his head, gave a ragged 
sigh. “No, not Mars,” he said. “Mars 
belongs to the same Sun the Earth does. 
Don’t ask me how it all happened. But, 
as you’ve probably noticed, we’re in 
the neighborhood of two stars. They 
rotate around a common center, and 
the world we’re on is a planet of the 
nearer of the two. We didn’t just go 
to bed last night and wake up this morn- 
ing, my friend ! We’ve traveled over so 
many miles that the figure alone would 
make you dizzy! And the trip must 
have taken time ! Now we’re on a world 
with an atmosphere so full of poison 
that nothing Earthly could ever stay 
alive in it. The only reason why the 
air outside is still breathable is that most 
of it is Earthly air, brought here just 
as we, and everything else, were brought 
here. But just as soon as the wind 
gets' a little stronger it will all be blown 
away! And then — well — you know the 
answer !” 

But Bill Stevens didn’t seem disap- 
pointed. He scratched his head re- 
flectively. “I sorta figgered that was 
the way it was about the air, Mr. Davis,” 
he said. “But look! They used to get 
gas out of the air durin’ the War, so a 
man could breathe all right. Now there 
ain’t gas masks enough to go around, 
but there are other ways. This is pretty 
important business, Mr. Davis. I don’t 
like to see folks die. You can hear ’em 
holler now, out there in the streets. It’s 
sorta pitiful, Mr. Davis, and we ain’t got 
much time!” 

THE sweat of horror dampened Ed- 
win Davis’ forehead. He leaned weakly 
against the laboratory bench where he 
had been analyzing a sample of the 
atmosphere, and glanced at a window 
beyond which the hideous, ruddy day- 
light shone. Muted by distance, he 
heard human screams and shouts of ter- 
ror. Children were crying. 

Suddenly the inventor’s lips curled 
in a wild leer. “Damn you !” he yelled. 



STARDUST GODS 



131 



“Don’t you think I understand how 
terrible it all is? But you don’t know 
what I know! Even if we did lick the 
gas for a few hours or days, it wouldn’t 
do any good in the end 1 There’s oxygen 
here in this hell hole of a world — I’m 
sure of it because of the high percentage 
of oxygen in the samples of air I’ve 
been testing. And there’s carbon di- 
oxide, too, and nitrogen. But then 
there’s sulphur dioxide and sulphur 
trioxide, which, I suppose, come from 
the many volcanic vents which must 
exist on this primitive planet. The 
chlorine must have the same source, 
being released from its compounds by 
some chemical process going on under- 
ground. A little of it, under the in- 
fluence of Sunlight, combines at once 
with the traces of carbon monoxide 
emitted by the volcanoes, to form 
COCL 2 , or phosgene. Now, you old 
fool, get out of here and leave me alone, 
before I go crazy and get rough!” 

Bill grinned briefly. He leaned his 
Winchester against the wall, and his 
big shoulders hunched. 

“Rough?” he questioned. “No, it 
wouldn’t be smart. You’ll be all right 
when you get hold of yourself. Now 
come on ; we’re goin’ places.” 

“It isn’t only the gas that scares the 
people : it’s those flying crystals !” Davis 
shot back. “They’re swarming over the 
whole town! The mob is almost mad 
with fear. You couldn’t handle it! No 
man could !” 

“I can try handlin’ it^” Bill returned 
grimly. 

“You bet Bill can handle a mob, if 
anybody can!” 

Both men turned toward the source 
of the voice. It was a rather husky 
voice, but not unpleasant ; though there 
was a waver in it now. The girl wasn’t 
one of these pretty-pretty girls, though 
she looked all right, standing there in 
the doorway. There was a small scar 
across her freckled nose, a scar acquired 
as a result of a minor explosion in a 



university chem lab. But she had dark, 
wavy hair, and big, brown eyes, misted 
now with tears of concern over what 
was happening in LaBelle. She was 
wearing a work shirt, corduroys and 
boots. 

“Hello, Jennie!” Bill greeted briefly. 
“And much obliged for the good word. 
You ain’t bad yourself!” 

“Miss Jane Terence,” said Davis, “my 
assistant. You know each other?” 

“Yeah,” Bill returned. “Jennie’s the 
toughest little brat that ever swung a 
fish pole. We used to hang around to- 
gether a lot, when she was knee-high. 
I’m Bill Stevens, if you don’t know. 
And now, if you got gas masks for all 
three of us ” 

“Yes, but not for the dog. We’ve 
used masks quite often in our experi- 
mental work,” said Davis, a new con- 
fidence animating him. 

The masks which he procured were 
not of the old, uncomfortable, nose-clip 
kind used during the World Wari 

III. 

THE inventor’s big car took the trio 
nearer to the business section of town. 
After a brief conference. Bill parted 
from his companions, who drove off to 
attend to certain vital business. But 
Bill kept the unprotected Schnitzel, and 
his Winchester, with him, carrying both 
under an arm. 

Bill pulled the flexible mask from his 
face. It wasn’t absolutely necessary yet ; 
but the air had a scalding, choking tang. 
Bill hurried along the sidewalk at a 
run. He reached the rows of brick- 
fronted buildings where the stores were 
located. But there didn’t seem to be 
anybody in the stores at present. Al- 
most the entire populace of LaBelle was 
jammed in the street. 

And fifty feet in the air, hovering and 
swirling over the terrified mass of hu- 
manity below, were countless sentient 
shards of gray. Frequently, one or sev- 



132 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



era! of them would dart down and circle 
the head of Mme panic-stricken individ- 
ual. And from the alien swarm there 
issued a clamor that reproduced, like a 
delayed reverberation, almost every 
sound made by the frightened crowd. 

Bill looked up anxiously at the gray 
crystals. In them he sensed the possi- 
bility of deadly danger; but for the mo- 
ment, at least, there seemed to be no 
real harm in them. They appeared only 
to watch the chaotic proceedings beneath 
them with a keen, clinical interest. In 
consequence. Bill, ever {Practical, di- 
rected his attention to more pressing 
necessity. 

He knew that unless something was 
done, real tragedy might result from the 
mob's stupidities alone. And so he 
climbed to the fop of a parked car. 
Needing a means to attract attention, he 
fired his Winchester into the air. The 
sharp report echoed between the build- 
ings, and reverberated across the floor 
of the vast hollow that cupped these few 
square miles of familiar Earthly country. 
Then there was comparative silence in 
the packed and struggling multitude. 
The crystals became suddenly mute, and 
more attentive, even, than before. They 
made no attempt to imitate the noise of 
the rifle. 

“Ain’t any of you folks htmgry ?” Bill 
asked, addressing the citizens of La- 
Belle. 

He didn’t seem to shout ; he gave the 
impression, rather, of speaking only in 
a casual, conversational tone. But his 
deep voice carried like the growl of a 
foghorn. 

“Ain’t nothing goin’ to stop me from 
havin’ breakfast,” he went on. “And so 
I filled up. So did Schnitz here.” Bill 
nodded toward the dachshund, which, 
by what seemed almost a piece of jug- 
glery, he still held under his arm, along 
with his rifle. “Reckon that anybody 
that neglects his breakfast, when there’s 
maybe a lot of work to be done, is bein’ 
kinda silly. If it wasn’t too late now to 



tell you folks that forgot to eat to go 
home and raid the pantry. I’d do it.” 

Bill paused for a moment, masticating 
his cud of tobacco with a humorous, re- 
flective air. No one could laugh now, 
with death — under alien suns, and in 
an alien atmosphere — a definite possi- 
bility which might be fulfilled within the 
next several minutes. But every mem- 
ber of his human audience of perhaps 
five thousand, almost the total popula- 
tion of LaBelle, must have been reas- 
sured a trifle by his good-humored lack 
of excitement. 

“No use worryin’ about those gray, 
flyin’ things,” Bill continued. “Far as 
I can see, they ain’t more’n botherin’ you 
a little — yet, anyway. Right now, 
though, you got to go to a place where 
you won’t be gassed. There’s several 
good-sized buildin’s on this street. 
There’s the armory, and there’s the 
movie house, and there’s a church — 
room enough for everybody, if you 
crowd a little. The air in those places 
is gonna be kept pure. The stuff to do 
this with is cornin’ up right away. Mr. 
Edwin Davis, the inventor, and his 
assistant, is gettin’ it. Now all we got 
to do is open up those buildin’s so you 
can get in. Somebody here oughta have 
the keys. How about it?” 

After a moment of uneasy scuffling in 
the throng, two men called out. One 
had the keys to the theater, the other 
to the armory. 

“That’s fine,” said Bill. “Now is 
there some young fella who’ll bust a 
cellar window of the church, crawl in 
and go around and open the doors?” 

From the far end of the crowd, Bill 
received a prompt response from several 
well-qualified individuals. 

“All set then,” Bill remarked casually. 
“Move slow, everybody, but not too 
slow. I guess you can tell which of 
those three buildin’s is nearest to you. 
If you get scared and start to push, just 
think twice. I got a rifle here, and 
I’m a damn good shot.” 



STARDUST GODS 



133 



Tliat Bill Stevens, lazy, booze-sotted 
old fellow that he had been, should dare 
thus to speak to the worthy citizens of 
LaBelle was indeed a fantastic situation. 
And it was perhaps still more fantastic 
that they should obey him. But they 
were doing so with a fair degree of 
orderliness. Calm strength, which he 
was showing now, is one thing that is 
universally admired and respected. 

MOTIONLESS, Bill watched, while 
his audience gradually dispersed. His 
own breath was getting scratchy now, 
and Schnitzel was panting heavily. 
There was a look of worship and plead- 
ing in the dog’s eyes that made Bill’s 
heart ache. And so he climbed off the 
top of the car, accosted a kid headed for 
the armory, and passed Schnitzel to 
him. 

“Take good care of the pooch,” Bill 
ordered. “He’s all I got.” 

Then he refitted the gas mask over 
his face, and waited, meanwhile look- 
ing up toward the crystalline swarm, 
which wavered and swirled overhead, 
like a mass of mosquitoes endowed with 
an inexplicable curiosity. The strange 
hush that had fallen over them when 
Bill had fired his rifle, still persisted. 
Their movements were tensely slow. 
Bill had only the dimmest conception 
of what they might be ; but somehow he 
felt that they were like spectators, 
gripped by a dramatic incident of some 
vast play. In the old adventurer’s heart 
there was a tingling thrill of awe. 

In the street, deserted now, a car 
halted beside him. Behind it, a large 
truck jarred to a stop. 

“The stuff’s here, Bill. We got it 
all at the Benson battery works.” It 
was Jane Terence speaking from the car, 
her voice muffled by her grotesque 
mask. 

Beside her, driving the car, was 
Davis. And in the back seat were two 
other men, their mouths and nostrils 
covered by chemical-soaked pads of 



cloth, their eyes protected hy goggles. 

“Mayor Greshwin, and Jerry Mason, 
chemist for the battery company,” Davis 
explained. “Both capable. I’m sure.” 

Bill approached the car. “Things 
couldn’t be much nicer, your honor,” he 
said. “I can count on you to keep order 
in- LaBelle. Mr. Mason, you can be 
mighty helpful. Did Mr. Davis tell you 
what we needed done?” 

“Yes,” said Jerry Mason. “The thea- 
ter and the armory and the church all 
have good air-conditioning systems. 
We’ve brought gasoline engines to run 
them, now that the electric power is 
off. The air that is forced into these 
buildings is sprinkled. That, in itself, 
should take a little of the chlorine out, 
because chlorine is soluble in water. But 
if the air is forced through several layers 
of felt, soaked in caustic soda, or sodium 
hydroxide, the dangerous part of the 
chlorine will be licked, because sodium 
hydroxide reacts with chlorine. Most 
of the phosgene will be cleaned out that 
way, too, and the gaseous, acid-form- 
ing sulphur oxides will, of course, be 
neutralized by the caustic base. So there 
you have it. We can hold out for a few 
days, but I — I guess there’s a limit to 
our luck!” 

“I know,” Bill responded. “Well, 
then I can leave LaBelle in the care of 
you and Mayor Greshwin. Reckon 
you can find groceries to feed the bunch. 
And you’ll have to get some fellas with 
guns to kind of watch the people so no 
lunatics go off half cocked. And you 
better try rescuin’ the folks that stayed 
home — if they’re still healthy enough. 
This pea soup is gettin’ pretty thick.” 

“What are you going to do yourself. 
Bill?” Jennie demanded worriedly. 

“I’m gonna look around,” said Bill. 
“I’m gonna try to find a safe place where 
everybody can stay — permanent — if 

there is such a place around here. I’ll 
need Ed for this, and I figger you might 
want to tag along, too, Jennie. You got 
stuff that’ll make you plenty useful.” 



134 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Greshwin and Mason climbed out of 
the car and Bill got in. The chemist had 
work to do that must be done quickly, 
before the oxygen in the three refuges 
were used up by the multitudes that 
packed them. Anxious and hasty good- 
bys were spoken, by voices muffled be- 
hind masks. The wind was blurry with 
poison that had become strong enough 
to kill. 

“Where to?” Ed Davis inquired of 
the old adventurer behind him. 

"Still got that plane you used to 
own ?” Bill demanded in return. 

"Sold it,” said Ed. "But George 
Schroeder, out on Highway 17, has 
one.” 

“That’s where we're goin’,” Bill 
stated. 

WITH A ROAR of determination, 
borne of human hope, hope which worth- 
less old Bill Stevens had aroused, the car 
started off through the streets, which 
were peopled only by occasional, 
sprawled corpses. 

And then Jane Terence gave a choked 
scream. The reason was apparent at 
once to her companions. Beyond the 
closed windows of the car hundreds of 
gray crystals, ejecting emerald sparks to 
propel them in their outlandish flight, 
were swarming and circling, as though 
they knew that here must be the center 
of the weird drama that th€y had ar- 
ranged. 

In another moment there was a sharp 
splintering of glass, as one of the name- 
less things shot, bulletlike and purpose- 
ful, through the window, and, with a 
soft, hissing sound, flew about the nar- 
row, interior. 

Davis, controlling himself with great 
effort, clung grimly to the wheel and 
kept the car on a straight course. Jane 
ducked, and Bill, prompted only by in- 
stinct, sent a big hand darting out in a 
swift gesture. 

His fingers closed on the intruder. 
Oddly, it made no effort to escape, but 



rested impassive in his grasp. But Bill 
could feel the pulsing of the eerie, alien 
vitality that animated it — little electrical 
tingles — throb, throb, throb. The 

crystal seemed to have a temperature 
slightly higher than that of the atmos- 
phere. The regular electrical throbbing 
must have been one of the many mani- 
festations of life processes, based not 
on the feeble energy drawn from the 
chemical union of oxygen and food, but 
on the limitless power of disintegrating 
atoms. 

No one spoke as Bill relaxed his grip 
a trifle, to peer at the small, captive mon- 
ster. Though a crystal, it was rather 
irregular in form. Its length was per- 
haps half an inch, its width a bit less. 
Its shape was octagonal, except that 
from its main mass there were slim, 
blunt-ended projections, arranged like 
the buds on the stem of a bush. The 
gray, slaglike material that composed 
the thing, was almost lusterless; but 
there was a dim, green glow on its sur- 
face. Its subcrystalline structure was 
revealed by the intricate crossing trac- 
eries of faint dark lines, like minute 
cracks. Each of the hundreds of divi- 
sions thus indicated was like a cell, com- 
parable to, yet differing immeasurably 
from the cells which compose an Earthly 
plant or animal. 

“I think we got somethin’ here,” Bill 
muttered. “Look!” 

Leaning forward from the back seat 
of the car, he held the enigma of incred- 
ible meaning between his two com- 
panions ahead, so they could see, too. 

Meanwhile, Bill’s awed gaze wan- 
dered to the swarming horde of the 
thing’s fellows in the poison-tainted, red- 
lighted air without. And then he felt 
an aching numbness creep slowly up 
his arm from the hand that held the 
crystal. The gray unknown did not 
possess eyes of a Terrestrial sort ; but 
who could say that the senses hidden in 
its unfathomable texture were hampered 
by the same limitations imposed upon 



STARDUST GODS 



135 



human vision? Men have no sensory- 
organs with which to detect radio waves ; 
but who knew that this sentient mystery, 
that could create from within itself all 
the possible types of etheric vibration, 
could not also detect all such vibrations, 
and interpret whatever meanings and 
information they chanced to bear? 

It was as though the crystal was tap- 
ping the nerve channels of Bill’s arm 
with exploring radiations, and reading 
not only his conscious thoughts and mo- 
tives, but probing out the very essence 
of the forces that made him and kindred 
Earthly things — alive. 



Maybe it was only a mental illusion, 
but it seemed that the process worked 
both ways. Bill was receiving dim, 
haunting impressions of a mighty history 
on worlds incredibly different from his 
own. Bill’s knowledge of science was 
scant, but he could understand a little. 
These hard, brittle, alien beings had been 
produced by an evolutionary develop- 
ment, too. Once, incalculable trillions of 
years ago, their ancestors had been as 
unintelligent as the insects of a Terres- 
trial forest; but the mental capacities of 
the race had grown, giving to each 
individual an increased control over the 




136 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



atomic forces which gave them their 
physical powers and made them almost 
gods. 

IN A VAGUE, hazy manner, Bill 
grasped these truths. He received im- 
pressions of a time, long, long ago, when 
exploring ether waves had groped across 
the intergalactic immensities. Those 

waves had been reflected back to their 
source, bringing information. Then 

had come the impulse to act^ — ^ 

"These things !” Bill stammered un- 
steadily. “They brought us here!” 

With eyes wide in wonder, Ed and 
Jennie were examining the marvelous, 
tiny being, Ed dividing his attention be- 
tween this scrutiny and the driving of 
the car. 

And then Bill felt the crystal vibrate 
in his hand. It was only a simple, 
material vibration, unlike the impalpable 
waves of the ether ; but when transmitted 
to the air it became sound^a tinny, 
muffled, ludicrous duplicate of Bill’s own 
voice, repeating with parrotlike perfec- 
tion, the words: 

“These things. They brought us 
here!” 

For a second the three humans were 
gripped by a stunned silence, in spite 
of the fact that they had noticed before 
the aptitude of the crystal monsters for 
imitating sounds. They merely vibrated 
their bodies, as the diaphragm of a 
loud-speaker is vibrated by electromag- 
nets; that was all. But the simplicity 
of the phenomenon’s explanation de- 
tracted little from its ability to startle. 

Then Bill, inspired by some dim hope, 
tightened his grip on the crystal, to be 
sure that it would not escape. 

“This thing could talk English!” he 
grated. “It could get all the words it 
needs from me. It can read my brains 
like a book !” 

“I can read your brains like a book!” 
the crystal stated, leaving no doubt in 
the minds of its listeners that its powers, 
where human speech was concerned, 



went beyond mere mimicry. It still 
spoke in the voice and manner of Bill 
Stevens; but there was no confusion 
of identity now. The pronouns, “It” 
and “my,” had become “I” and “your.” 

Bill was ever watchful for an op- 
portunity to improve the position of his 
kind on this strange world. So, now, he 
became possessed of a grim, pathetic 
idea. 

“So what?” he growled. “Fm hang- 
in’ onto you, you little devil, and I’m 
gonna squeeze, and I’m not gonna let 
go until you do plenty of talkin’!” 

Under other, less trying circum- 
stances, the response of the crystal 
would have been laughable from the 
human viewpoint, so perfectly did it ape 
Bill in an angry mood. 

“Is that so, you old fathead!” it 
rasped. “Well, you’ll find out damn 
quick what’s what! You want me and 
my friends to take you back to Earth. 
Well, we ain’t gonna do it! You and 
all the folks in LaBelle are gonna stay 
right here on this planet ! And we’re 
gonna watch you, and see what you do ! 
If you’re askin’ for help already, you 
just better forget it ! Meantime, here’s a 
kick in the pants for youj” 

Escape from Bill’s grasp was not at 
all difficult for the crystal. Suddenly 
the temperature of the gray, octagonal 
bit of alien life increased by hundreds of 
degrees. Bill gave a muffled exclama- 
tion of pain. His fingers relaxed, and 
a puff of smoke arose from his seared 
palm. Uttering a sound like human 
laughter, the crystal smashed back 
through the window of the car, to re- 
join its fellows. ' 

"It seemed so human!” Jennie said in 
dazed, terrified surprise. “I felt almost 
friendly toward it at first, in spite of its 
apparent rage ! And then I realized the 
truth ! It isn’t human at all, and proba- 
bly it wasn’t angry at all! It was just 
imitating a human mood, though it 
probably meant what it told you. Is 
your hand hurt bad. Bill?” 



STARDUST GODS 



137 



But dread and wonder made Bill 
Stevens truculent, and emphasized in 
his mind the vital need for haste. 

“Let’s not talk,” he growled. “Let’s 
just gallop along to George Schroeder’s 
place.” 

IV. 

THE CAR was speeding along a 
concrete highway now, out in the open 
country. The wind had mounted and 
had grown as hot and steaming as a 
Turkish bath. Through the fog, the 
red suns, climbing rapidly, shone with a 
sullen, slumberous light. 

And the host of flying shards was 
still a present reality, following the car, 
twittering elfinly. Now and then a 
crystal would voice a word or phrase or 
imprecation in Earthly English : “Fat- . 
head! . . . We ain’t gonna do it! 

. . . Is your hand hurt bad. Bill?” 

They seemed to mimic only what the 
occupants of the car, and their fellow, 
who had been in contact with Bill’s 
flesh, had said, though it was probable, 
considering their mastery of etheric 
waves, that they could read minds 
even at a distance. 

At last Bill Stevens and his compan- 
ions reached the Schroeder farm. The 
place was deserted. But George’s old 
plane vvas in the shed, where it had been 
stored for the winter. Its wings had 
been removed to allow it to enter the 
narrow space. But the masked trio had 
tools, and it was do or die, so they went 
to work with a will. 

The fierce wind still blew when the 
task was finished. Dark clouds, red- 
fringed, swept across the suns at inter- 
vals. And the motor of the plane was 
not in the best of condition, sputtering 
unevenly. But Davis and Jennie and 
Bill realized that this was war — a war 
against the unknown— and whatever the 
adverse circumstances, they still must 
be met with action. 

The ship was rolled out into a pas- 



ture, close to the shed where it had been 
stored. The three adventurers climbed 
aboard, and with Ed Davis at the joy 
stick, took off into the turbulent, murky 
air, 

Ed guided the plane toward the deep 
pass which traversed the tremendous 
mountains. Below, Jennie and Bill, 
keeping a close watch from the forward 
passenger cockpit, saw the steep walls 
of the great, craterlike depression, in the 
center of which LaBelle rested. Now 
the plane surmounted that wall, and be- 
gan its wheezing, uncertain progress up 
the pass, while the two observers kept 
on the lookout for some ledge or valley 
where their people might attempt to es- 
tablish homes. 

The swarm of watching crystals, 
which had not deserted the Earthians 
for a moment, dogged the plane with a 
vulturelike persistence. Though it fal- 
tered often, the craft, skillfully guided 
by Ed Davis, at last climbed over the 
highest portion of the gap between the 
mountains. » Now, for a little time, it 
could glide downhill, relieving to some 
extent the strain on its overheated mo- 
tor. 

The pass flattened out to form a jag- 
ged expanse of country, its details 
blurred to ghostly indistinctness by the 
haze. Then, far beneath them, and sep- 
arated by a considerable distance. Bill 
and Jennie made out two colossal pits, 
identical in superficial appearance to the 
one that cupped LaBelle. 

“These must be other colonies 
brought here from Earth!” the girl 
burst out, trying to raise her voice 
above the noise of the motor. “Maybe 
the people in them have learned what 
to do to keep on living! Maybe they’ll 
help us ” 

But then Jennie’s eagerness wavered 
and disappeared. The contents of both 
pits were different by far from any- 
thing known on Earth. 

The more distant of the two held a 



138 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



patch of reddish desert, bisected by a 
dark, straight band, in which there was 
a gleam of glass and metal, bizarre in 
its implications. 

The other vast excavation harbored 
a sea of whitish vapor, through which 
grotesque and distorted things pro- 
truded. 

In the mountain pass the air had been 
fairly quiet ; but now a fierce gust of 
wind struck the plane and tipped its 
wings at a steep, dangerous angle. A 
miniature whirlwind, created out of the 
erratic currents which blew over the 
mountains, jerked the nose of the old 
crate sharply upward. The left wing 
cruriipled backward with a grinding, 
grating sound as metal struts buckled 
and snapped ; then its weakened struc- 
ture held, vibrating badly, and threat- 
ening complete collapse at any moment. 

SOMEHOW Ed Davis, at the con- 
trols, managed to level off. To attempt 
a landing was the only possible resort. 
With an odd, detached calm he went to 
work, ignoring the crystal horde that 
shrieked and whistled around him, as if 
to express the thrill of this new devel- 
opment. Beneath was the great pit of 
the white vapor ; and to bring the plane 
to rest anywhere other than within its 
barriers was a thing not to be hoped 
for, even if there would be any advan- 
tage in a landing on the jagged, sur- 
rounding country. 

Ed dipped the nose of the ship for a 
glide. Presently streamers of fog closed 
around him and he could see nothing. 
Then came a dazing, thumping crash. 
The plane turned over on its nose. 
Half stunned, Ed still could hear the 
voices of his companions, and the vast, 
soft crying of the crystals. Presently 
Bill Stevens was pulling him out of the 
wreckage of the plane, from which an 
ominous thread of smoke was rising. 

“1 guess that finishes us, gang,” Ed 
muttered, looking up at the gray shards 



that shot, bulletlike, through the fog. 
“It’s a long way back to LaBelle. If 
we have to walk, we’ll never make it. 
For one thing, the air-purifying chemi- 
cals in our masks won’t hold out long 
enough. Where— ^where’s Jane?” he 

stammered in sudden panic. 

“Here, Ed,” she quavered from be- 
hind him. “I’m all right if you are.” 
Her slender hand found his shoulder 
reassuringly. 

The inventor gave a shaky laugh of 
relief. “Just bruised up,” he said. 

Bill was cursing the crystals with 
lurid, vengeful abandon, and they, in 
their turn, were hurling his curses back 
at him. 

Ed’s mind was clear enough now for 
him to feel anger, too. “What do you 
expect us to do now, you crazy dev- 
ils?” he shouted hatefully.’ 

The alien shards must have found an 
importance in the question, for they 
stopped exchanging unpleasantries with 
Bill. One of them, a little larger than 
most of its fellows, circled Davis’ head. 
After a moment it spoke, imitating now 
the inventor’s voice and manner of 
speech; for doubtless it was from his 
brain that the words and expressions 
it used were drawn. 

“We expect you to do just as you 
choose. We want you to act naturally, 
working on your own judgment and 
drawing your o'wn conclusions from 
what you observe. Obviously, then, we 
cannot give you advice or more explana*- 
tions now. That is all. Proceed.” 

THERE WAS something bnital and 
unyielding in the crystal’s statements. 
Ed Davis felt chilled to the bone. And 
then he realized that the chill was not 
solely emotional. It was bitterly and 
damply cold here in this white fog that 
filled the great hole in the crust of this 
primitive planet. 

^ "Ammonia!” said Jane Terence. "I 
can smell it even through my mask I” 

All three of the adventurers looked 



STARDUST GODS 



139 



about them in an effort to find explana- 
tions for the many mysteries of their 
present environment. The first thing 
that caught their attention was the 
plane. It had begun to bum now. The 
flames shooting up from it were all en- 
veloped in a bluish halo. 

The phenomenon aroused a disquiet- 
ing, nervous tension in Ed Davis; but 
before his mind could complete the 
proper memory connections, so that he 
could grasp the nature of the fire’s blue 
aura, there was a low but stupendous 
whoosh! For a second, Bill and Jennie 
and himself were surrounded by blue 
flame that made their clothing smoke 
and singed the short hairs from their 
exposed hands. 

And then Ed Davis had the answer. 
“Methane!” he burst out. “Marsh gas! 
Or at least something pretty much like 
it ! Methane burns blue that way. 
There was quite a lot of the stuff here 
in this hole, and the fire from our ship 
ignited it !” 

Like a great, circular wave, the flame 
moved outward through the fog of the 
pit, provoking among the crystals that 
had congregated in it a fresh outburst 
of excited yammering. In a few seconds 
the methane was burned from the at- 
mosphere, and the flame vanished; but 
the monstrous sigh it had made endured 
as a fading echo for some moments 
longer. 

“Zowie!” Bill growled, brushing 
sparks from his sleeve. 

But both Jennie and Ed were in their 
element now. Here, before them, 
around them, was a new riddle to solve. 

The air had become warmer and 
clearer after the passage of the flame. 
Visibility was a bit better than before. 
The ground, glassy stuff, native to this 
primitive world for the most part, was 
flecked with large areas of viscid, bub- 
bling foam. A huge wheel, tipped fan- 
tastically at an angle in a maze of mas- 
sive and complicated junk, lay a hundred 
feet distant, sentient, crystalline be- 



ings circling it exploratively. Small, in- 
tricate objects of metal were scattered 
about underfoot, giving evidence of a 
science of considerable advancement. 

“What do you make of it all, Jen- 
nie?” Ed Davis inquired at last. 

“That’s not such a very hard ques- 
tion to answer,” Jane Terence re- 
sponded in her husky voice, awe plainly 
evident in it. “The ammonia and the 
methane give us one clue. The atmos- 
pheres of large planets, such as Jupiter 
and Saturn, contain an awful lot of those 
gases. That foamy stuff there— it’s all 
that’s left of certain things brought to 
this world in the same way that La- 
Belle was brought. But here the lack 
of enough pressure just made them 
evaporate. They were made for the 
conditions of a far different planet than 
this — a big planet with plenty of grav- 
ity, and a deep, dense atmosphere to 
build up pressure. And the heavy con- 
struction of that machine, or whatever 
it is, over there, shows that the gravity 
was present, all right. Liquid ammonia 
must have taken the place of water on 
that other planet where all this stuff 
came from.” 

Ed nodded. “You’re right, I think,” 
he said. “This is some more of the 
work of our crystalline friends. The 
stuff in this pit could be a little sample 
of Jupiter; or, rather, what remains of 
that sample. Jupiter may be a rather 
cold planet ; but part of the chill we felt 
before the methane burned was caused 
by the evaporation you mentioned. We 
learned way back that evaporation is a 
cooling process.” 

“What are you two chatterin’ about?” 
Bill demanded with a trace of unwonted 
annoyance. “Come on ! We got to try 
to get out of here! We got to keep 
lookin’ for a refuge as long as we’re 
still alive!” 

y, 

PRESENTLY, in their tedious 
tramp across the floor of the pit, the 



140 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



trio found a large, transparent globe 
amid a tangle of metal wreckage. The 
sphere seemed slowly to be melting or 
sublimating. Within it was a purplish, 
opalescent mass, nameless, but still 
alive. It squirmed there as if in terror. 
The adventurers had only a brief op- 
portunity to examine it. Covered with 
sparse, hairy projections, it suggested a 
huge caterpillar. Then there was a loud, 
ringing pop, as a portion of the sphere 
exploded outward under internal pres- 
sure. 

Twitching in agony, the opalescent 
thing, which must have been intelligent, 
considering the presence of the artificial 
integument which had protected it, 
oozed and bubbled out of the globe, 
changing to ammonia gas and white 
foam. 

The Earthians had no definite proof, 
but it was fact that they were seeing 
one of the last of the unwilling colonists 
from Jupiter perish. Faced by grim, 
alien nature, Jovian wisdom had failed. 
It was a depressing thought, heralding 
to the Earthians their own defeat and 
extinction. The clamor of the crystal 
horde above had all the dismalness of 
sparrows chirping in the halls of a 
ruined edifice whose builders had long 
since departed. 

^‘This place gives me the creeps !” 
Jane Terence declared bitterly. 

Ed Davis grimaced behind his mask, 
which, he knew, would afford him ade- 
quate protection against the poisons in 
the air for only a few hours more. 

Bill Stevens led the way toward the 
lip of the pit in the direction of the 
mountain pass, which could be made out 
through the thinning fog. He didn’t 
have a very definite object in view ; but 
he still hoped, somehow, to find a refuge 
for his people. 

A crystal swarm swooped to follow. 
Out of their nerve-racking yammering 
there presently came to Bill a surge of 
smothering fury. Curses were inade- 



quate to express it, but Bill still had 
his Winchester. He wheeled around, 
and, thoughtless of possible conse- 
quences, fired one shot after another 
into the alien multitude until the'maga- 
zine was empty. 

“You damn devils!” he yelled. “You 
brought us here, and you brought those 
Jupiter people here! What for? It 
looks as though you did it just for 
fun!” 

For a moment it seemed that Bill 
Stevens had invited suicide, as the gray 
horde rocketed down toward him. But, 
considering their smallness, and the 
swiftness of their flight, the chance of 
hitting one of the shards with a bullet 
was remote indeed. He had done the 
crystals no harm. 

They only circled him and his com- 
panions, meanwhile echoing in myriad 
elfin voices, overlapping and straggling, 
the single word: “Fun!” 

There was no doubt that they had 
understood what Bill had said; for if 
they could not entirely grasp the mean- 
ing of his words by direct listening, they 
could fall back on the subtleties of their 
unique vibrational science to probe his 
brain. But how had they chosen the 
word “fun” as an answer ? To suppose 
that the word was meant in its literal 
sense — that all their vast undertaking 
was only for fun — seemed ludicrous, 
grotesque and mad! 

Then one of the little gray demons 
came to rest on Bill’s arm, clinging there 
like a bit of steel clinging to a magnet. 
Again Bill was conscious of that pe- 
culiar sensation of a limited rapport 
with a crystalline intellect. A tremen- 
dous and thrilling, if borrowed, ecstasy 
swept over him. It could not truly be 
described as “fun,” though there were 
many points of contact. 

BILL knew now that he and his 
companions, the entire Earth colony, 
the Jupiter colony, and whatever other 



STARDUST GODS 



14J 



samples of distant worlds might now 
exist here had been brought to this 
primitive planet to fulfill the conditions 
of some vast comparative and competi- 
tive experiment. But the real motive of 
that experiment, though Bill saw it 
dimly, was still hazed and clouded by 
the urges of an un-Earthly psychology, 
not easy for a man to understand. 

Having imparted a fleeting impres- 
sion of what it and its kind were like 
to him, the crystal broke contact with 
Bill’s arm and flew away to rejoin its 
twittering fellows. 

“Come on!’’ Bill growled to his two 
companions, sullen defiance still evident 
in his voice. He did not wish to dis- 
cuss now the vague, haunting ideas that 
had silently entered his mind from the 
crystal. 

He and Jennie and Ed scaled the pre- 
carious slopes of the great hole of the 
Jupiter colon}', and continued on across 
the rough, rock-encumbered plain. 
Progress was slow. Now they passed 
through a clump of dark-green growths 
of a simple, primitive structure. These 
plants must have been native to this 
young planet, and adapted to its lethal 
environment. Now the humans circled 
an area of porous ground, still hot with 
volcanic fire. Chlorine was oozing 
through the pumicelike stone produced 
by some chemical process in the vitals 
of this world. 

Gusts of scalding rain fell in fleet- 
ing showers from the clouds that scud- 
ded by above. Weary muscles grew 
more weary. Skin chapped and blis- 
tered in the unfamiliar and corrosive at- 
mosphere. Thus the day, which must 
have been about half as long as a Ter- 
restrial day, wore on. 

The twin suns set in a blaze of red 
glory. A beautiful, murky dusk fol- 
lowed, alight with the now visible phos- 
phorescence of the crystal swarms. On 
the jagged horizon a tiny, gray-green 
moon hung. Around it was a tenuous 



halo of a similar shade; and it was not 
difficult to guess that that wispy band 
was composed of countless shards of 
crystal life. The moon was their home. 
Its color made that fact plain. Perhaps 
its entire mass, or at least its outer 
crust, was composed of those inorganic 
superijeings packed closely together, 
maybe to form a single Gargantuan in- 
tellect. 

Detached bits of gray-green haze were 
visible in space — armies of crystals, 
moving back and forth between their 
moon and this planet. 

Prompted perhaps by intuition, Jane 
Terence looked back suddenly. 

“Gosh!” she gasped. “Look, fellas!’' 

The two men spun around. 

THERE WAS something in the air 
above the hills and rocks over which 
they and the girl had just passed. It 
was a ghostly mirage, coming in from 
the vacuum of the void — a scene in 
phantom form. Through it a few faint 
stars were visible, though it was other- 
wise like a phosphorescent photograph, 
delineating in three dimensions a vast, 
steamy marsh, peopled by outlandish 
trees and giant ferns such as those 
which had existed on Earth during the 
Coal Period. Dotting the almost sub- 
stanceless fabric of the mirage were 
many small, glowing crystals that 
seemed to be congealed in it. 

The vision was moving closer, set- 
tling groundward. Like an elastic thing 
it quivered and rebounded momentarily, 
when it struck the substance of this 
world, to which it had journeyed across 
tremendous distance. Then it settled 
'motionless in a hollow. 

A fresh horde of crystals, numerically 
a thousand times larger than the one 
which followed and watched the three 
Earthians, pounced upon the intergalac- 
tic phantom, penetrating its tenuous tex- 
ture, and taking up regularly spaced 
positions there. Then the crystal shards 



142 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



began to glow — hotter, brighter, throw- 
ing off the corpuscular emanations and 
etheric radiations needed for a mighty 
recreative process. The ground on 
which the mirage rested threw up 
streamers of green flame, cold but bril- 
liant, and began to dissolve, its sub- 
stance being drawn, in the form of free 
protons, electrons, neutrons, and posi- 
trons, into the pattern of the ghostly 
mirage, there to compose new atoms, 
duplicating those of the solid realities 
of which the phantom was an impres- 
sion. 

The observers could see the green 
fire, composed of migrating matter, 
spread over the ground and dissolve it. 
In the emerald flame the mirage was 
solidifying, drawing substance from the 
crust of this young planet. Remotely, 
the process must have been related to 
that of simple electroplating — the trans- 
fer of metallic ions from a solution to 
the surface of some conductor by means 
of an electric current. 

Finally, having served its purpose, the 
green fire died and the crystals receded. 
But they did not go far away. 

FOR A MOMENT, dazed at the 
wonder they had seen happening, the 
Earthians studied the new colony, which 
rested in a pit just like those of the 
other colonies. The pits were merely 
great holes left after the rearrangement 
of matter to compose the things they 
contained. 

Huge ferns, revealed by the light of 
the gray-green moon, gigantic spore 
trees, sprouting out of the muddy 
marsh — a monster, wavering crazily 
through the air on long, outlandish 
wings, to crash in its death agonies 
amid the vegetation of its native haunts 

Poison gas was something the 

monster was not built to endure. But 
perhaps a few of the plants might man- 
age ^ All around, crystal hosts were 

watching and twittering. For the pres- 



ent, confronted by a fresher marvel, they 
were paying scant attention to the three 
from Earth. 

“Just a little bit of old Venus,” said 
Jennie in her husky voice. "Or it could 
be. It’s obvious now how I..aBelle and 
the other colonies were transported 
hete. But why? I don’t see the crys- 
tals’ motives yet !” 

“They must have a reason — a very 
definite reason !” Ed Davis responded 
as they continued their march. “It 
might be though, that their purpose is be- 
yond our understanding. They’ve ad- 
vanced so far in science that now they’re 
almost gods — stardust gods ! Their eco- 
nomic system must be very simple; lit- 
tle effort on their part is required to fill 
the needs of life. In consequence, what 
have they left ? Only curiosity — the de- 
sire to gratify the urge for more knowl- 
edge !” 

"That’s right, Ed !” Bill burst out 
suddenly. “I get it now ! Those two 
crystals — the one I held in my hand 
when we were drivin’ in the car, and 
the other one that was on my arm not 
so long ago — sorta let me see with my 
brain just what makes ’em tick. But 
I couldn’t understand all of what I saw 
right away. Now I think I do. Bring- 
in’ those samples of things from other 
worlds here is kind of an experiment, 
all right ; but, believe it or not, it’s more 
like a kind of game ! The crystals said 
‘Fun!’ Remember? They didn’t mean 
it quite like that, but almost I” 

Davis shook his head. “Do you mean 
to say,” he questioned, “that they 
brought the colonies here across count- 
less light years, mostly for no other rea- 
son than entertainment?” 

“That’s what I mean,” Bill answered 
promptly. “You had it just about fig- 
gered straight when you said that they 
didn’t have nothin’ left but curiosity. 
You got to look at things the way they 
do, Ed! Suppose you didn’t have to 
bother much about makin’ a livin’, and 



STARDUST GODS 



143 



suppose you knew just about every- 
thing, and was almost immortal. Sup- 
pose, without half tryin’ you could work 
wonders. What would you do? Just 
sit and twiddle your thumbs? For a 
little while, maybe ; but not for ages and 
ages! You’d go out and work them 
wonders just to keep busy, and even if 
there wasn’t much serious purpose back 
of ’em ! Fact is, knowin’ and bein’ able 
to do most everythin’, you wouldn’t be 
able to find a real, honest-to-gosh, life- 
and-death-serious purpose, no matter 
how hard you tried! Well, that’s the 
position the crystals are in, damn ’em! 

“They’re like kids at a circus now, 
watchin’ the animals perform. They’re 
enjoyin’ themselves and learnin’ a few 
things, too; though what they’re team- 
in’ isn’t anything of which they can 
make real, practical use. The enjoy- 
ment is more important. They get en- 
joyment out of studyin’ our minds and 
seein’ how tliey work. They ain’t never 
used machines, so the machines in La- 
Belle and those the Jupiter people had 
interest them plenty. That stuff in the 
iVenus colony seems to have its points, 
too, the way they’re lookin’ at it.’’ 

ED DAVIS frowned thoughtfully 
behind his mask. Then he glanced first 
in one direction and then in another, 
and saw the beings which he himself 
had termed stardust gods, glowing like 
fireflies in the advancing night. Those 
that were near were attentively quiet 
now. Slowly they were circling the two 
men and the girl as they plodded on over 
the rough ground, making no sound ex- 
cept the whisper of their flight. They 
must have found human judgment of 
themselves interesting, but they be- 
trayed no offense; nor was it logical 
that they should, since it was unlikely 
that they possessed the same sensitive- 
ness so common among men. Kind- 
ness and consideration, and the other, 
finer sentiments, must also have been 
lacking in their natures, since such 



things are born In adversity; and the 
stardust gods, in their present stage of 
development, at least, had never met 
with the mellowing influence of defeat. 

So, at last, in Bill Stevens’ homely 
explanation, Ed Davis recognized truth. 
“I guess you’ve got it straight. Bill,’’ he 
said. “It’s quite possible that the crys- 
tals have even made and destroyed 
worlds during the course of their his- 
tory. And they’ve done it mostly for 
the pleasure it gives them.’’ 

Jane Terence nodded. “And now I 
suppose they’re wondering what we’re 
going to do next. Well, that other col- 
ony — the one we haven’t seen close up 
yet — is from Mars. The dark band we 
glimpsed from the plane was part of a 
Martian canal. And there was desert 
around it. Yes, I’m sure I’m right! 
Do you fellas think it would be any use 
for us to go take a look?’’ 

Ed shrugged. “Maybe,’’ he an- 
swered. “But if you’re expecting the 
Martians to be hospitable, I imagine 
you’d better forget the idea. Still, 
something might turn up.” 

“Let’s hurry, then,” said Bill. “But 
not too much. Chlorine’s beginnin’ to 
come through my mask. And there’s a 
little phosgene in the air, too, remember. 
Kinda funny stuff — phosgene. A little 
of it don’t hurt much, but if you get 
het up a lot, your heart just stops.” 

VI. 

THE REMAINDER of the trek was 
rather horrible. The stench of chlorine, 
seeping through the depleted chemicals 
of the masks, got stronger. But in spite 
of this warning that their time was 
short, the Earthians were forced to 
pause often for rest as a necessary guard 
against the phosgene. 

Somewhere along the way Jennie ex- 
pressed a strange, haunting thought. 
“Maybe it doesn’t matter so much if we 
die now,” she said. “Because if we ar- 



144 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



rived here in the same way that the 
things from Venus did, we must be only 
duplicates of our original selves. Our 
other bodies must have lived through 
their natural span of years, on Earth, 
and perished, long ago.” 

But her companions were in no mood 
for a discussion of so deep a subject. 
Whether they were duplicates or not, 
the situation in which they found them- 
selves now seemed hideously real. 

Haunted by vague, jangled thoughts, 
the three kept on. At last they ap- 
proached the lip of the Martian pit. 

From its brink they looked down. 
White light flickered ahead, illuminating 
an expanse of desert ground, soaked 
with water now from a shower, and 
dotted with wilted, bulbous growths that 
could never survive here. But the light 
came from the deep, straight gorge be- 
yond the stretch of desert, and it came 
through a vast sheet of metal-ribbed, 
transparent material. The gorge was 
roofed! Moreover, its ends were 
blocked by partitions of a similar sub- 
stance. This small segment of a Mar- 
tian canal was air-tight! 

Beneath its roof, clear as unpolluted 
air on a summer afternoon, activity was 
in progress. Perhaps it would have 
been considered almost normal activity, 
even on Mars. At least the haste of 
fear and danger was not apparent. A 
great fan, which must have had a pur- 
pose in connectiori with ventilation, was 
turning slowly, its blades glinting in the 
light that flickered from globes sus- 
pended from the roof of the canal. Fan- 
tastic machines stood on their founda- 
tions. Water, gleaming in a network of 
ditches, supplied moisture to the roots 
of strange, feathery-leaved plants. And, 
crawling tediously along white paths, 
were tendriled gobs of drab gray — the 
Martians themselves. 

So much the three from Earth could 
make out, though distance still hid much 
detail. 



"Maybe our friends from the Red 
Planet are going to beat the rap,” said 
Davis, his voice hoarse from the cor- 
rosive action of the chlorine that was 
coming through his mask. “At least 
they have a chance. For ages, on dying 
Mars, they must have survived by arti- 
ficial means: melting the polar snows 
for irrigational purposes; freeing oxy- 
gen from mineral compounds; living in 
glass-covered canals, not daring, ever, 
to breathe the thin, almost oxygenless 
atmosphere natural to their planet.” 

“Good luck to them,” Jennie com- 
mented ruefully. “I guess they de- 
serve to win out in the contest spon- 
sored by the stardust gods. I guess — 

I’m tired, fellas I don’t suppose it 

makes any difference, though. We can’t 
do anything more ” 

Davis wasn’t feeling so good himself. 
His chest was choked up and his heart 
seemed like a big, throbbing, smother- 
ing something inside him. But he 
caught the girl before she could crum- 
ple weakly to the ground. 

“Jennie!” he cried without thinking. 
“Jennie, my darling ! That damned 
gas !” - 

And then he realized the irony of his 
words. For a year he and Jane Ter- 
ence had worked together in his labora- 
tory as friendly associates. But neither 
had betrayed any sign of sentimental at- 
tachment before. This was a funny time 
for him to start that sort of thing! 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t be, Ed,” Jennie returned, 
leaning against his shoulder. “I’m glad 
for those two words. Because, you see, 
I love you, too. And I’m glad Bill got 
us to try to do something. A great old 
guy. Bill ” 

“I reckon we have to stop a minute 
and rest some more,” said Bill Stevens. 
"With the load off our feet, maybe our 
brains’ll work better and dope out some- 
thin’ for us. Steady, Jennie. We ain’t 
quite done for yet!” 



STARDUST GODS 



145 



HE HELPED Ed ease her to the 
rough ground beside a large rock. Then 
he threw himself down on his stomach 
and shut his eyes in an effort to relax 
and regain a little strength. Qose above 
him he heard the crystals chuckling and 
muttering and seeming to urge him to 
rise that their sport might continue. 
Some of them were even speaking 
Earthly words that expressed some of 
the ideas hammering inside his brain: 
“Phosgene! Got to do somethin’, but 

what? Poor Jennie ’’ 

And then he detected a padding, 
scraping noise. There was a momen- 
tary note of fresh excitement in the 
voices of the stardust gods. A few sec- 
onds later Bill felt a long, smooth body 
snuggle against him. His head jerked 
up abruptly. 

“Why, hello, there, Schnitz !” he mut- 
tered raggedly. Nothing that "had hap- 
pened to him during the past several 
hours had surprised him as much as the 
sudden appearance of the dachshund. 

“What did you say. Bill?” Ed mum- 
bled from around the angle of the great 
rock. 

Bill didn’t answer right away. In- 
stead he fumbled over the little dog. 
There was a crude but evidently effec- 
tive mask, hastily devised from leather 
and cloth and pieces of tin and wire, 
over Snitchzel’s muzzle. Fastened to 
the harness he wore was a bottle 
wrapped in paper. Bill got the bottle 
loose, examined the wrapper. On the 
latter, a message was written in a large, 
clear hand. 

By the flickering light from the Mar- 
tian canal. Bill proceeded to read it: 

Best we can do. Sorry. When you ' 
didn’t come hack, we decided that you 
were lost. So we sent the dog, '^o 
ought to be able to locate yon, if any- 
body can, since I understand from a kid 
here that you’re his owner. Bill, and 
since he should be able to cover rough 
ground much quicker than a man could. 
Wc just sicked him up the pass. Hope 
AST— 10 



be finds you before the mask we rigged 
for him gives out The bottle is filled 
with a strong caustic soda solution. If 
you pour it on the filter packing of your 
masks, it oi^ht to help you three to hold 
out for a while. Fire broke out here, 
and we’ve got our hands full. Best luck I 

The missive was signed by Jerry Ma- 
son, the chemist who was helping 
Mayor Greshwin in LaBelle. 

Bill didn’t waste any time. He 
bounced to his feet with the bottle of 
caustic soda and dashed around the rock 
to where Ed Davis and Jane Terence 
were sprawled. He didn’t say much, 
but in a moment he was pouring strong 
chemical on the packing in the filter can- 
ister of Jennie’s mask, and thus renew- 
ing its power to absorb chlorine and the 
other poisons in the air. Next Bill doc- 
tored Davis’ canister, nor did he neglect 
a similar attention to the filter padding 
over Schnitzel’s nose. Last of all he 
took care of himself. 

MEANWHILE, Jennie and Ed had 
discovered Jerry Mason’s note, which 
Bill had dropped. But as soon as the 
thrill of temporary rescue had passed, 
the clouds of defeat settled quickly 
again. 

“In spite of Mason and Schnitz, we’re 
almost as much in the dog house as 
ever,” Ed remarked. “Perhaps we can 
return to LaBelle, if that does any one 
any good.” 

But Bill was looking down into the 
Martian pit, his small blue eyes nar- 
rowed. “May"be I’m gettin’ the makin’s 
of an idea,” he drawled at last. "You 
two just follow me. Let’s go, Schnitz.” 
The old man and the dog led the way 
dowmthe glassy slope. Ed assisted Jen- 
nie, who was still rather unsteady and 
weak, in spite of the purer air she was 
breathing now. They crossed the nar- 
row strip of desert, to the edge of the 
canal. 

Here they paused for a few seconds. 
The expanse of the transparent roof 



146 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



glistened in the weird gray-green moon- 
light, and reflected the images of the 
flitting stardust gods, who must have al- 
ready sensed the scheme in Bill’s brain. 
Near-by, the open end of a huge pipe, 
which projected through the canal roof, 
and continued down to the apparatus 
of the great fan on the canal bed, sucked 
air with a steady whisper. Evidently 
the Martians, who crept tediously below, 
had already devised a permanent means 
of purifying the atmosphere of this 
planet, for clearly they were pumping 
it into their refuge. 

Bill glanced around ; then he ap- 
proached a granite boulder whose weight 
would have been about three hundred 
pounds on Earth, and could not have 
been much diflFerent than that here, for 
the gravities of the two worlds were al- 
most equal. 

‘‘Gimme a hand, Ed,” he ordered. 

‘‘I believe I begin to see what this is 
all about,” Ed Davis remarked grimly. 

‘‘Sure you do!” Bill shot back at him. 

Together they picked up the stone, 
carried it the few necessary paces and 
flung it out over the canal. It struck 
the transparent roof with a loud, tear- 
ing thud, and crashed through. The 
glass of the roof was not of the brittle 
sort common on Earth; it was flexible 
and light, like cellophane. 

Immediately there was a scream of 
inrushing atmosphere. The air in the 
canal was of a much lower density and 
pressure than that above it; for the 
former was, of course, conditioned for 
Martian breathing organs. Now there 
was an equalization of forces. The 
domain of the folks from the Red 
Planet was swiftly being flooded with 
air that bore a deadly taint of poison. 

SILENTLY, yet with muscles 
twitching with excitement and horror, 
the Earthians watched, as the flat, gray 
ovals which were the bodies of the beings 
that it was their purpose to dispossess, 
trembled and writh^ in their death 



agonies. Very soon it was all over. 
The huge fan still turned; the white 
light still flickered from the globes that 
produced it; the immense roof still 
stretched unbroken, except for one hole, 
beneath the sky of a bizarre, un-Earthly 
night. But the unwilling colonists from 
Mars, masters of an ancient and efficient 
science though they had been, were no 
more. 

Ed was the first to lower himself 
through the rift in the transparent 
covering of the canal. He had to drop 
several feet to the ground beneath, that 
sloped steeply for some distance before 
the floor of the huge, artificial trench 
leveled out, becoming a flat expanse 
some five miles in width. Jennie came 
next, and then Bill and his Winchester, 
Schnitzel was last, sliding down nerv- 
ously into his master’s arms. 

ALREADY there were crystals be- 
neath the roof of the canal. Perhaps 
there had been a few here, even before 
the roof was punctured, having slipped 
through the ventilator system. 'They 
might, of course, have penetrated the 
canal covering, had they so desired ; but 
had they done so gas would have en- 
tered, too, and destroyed the Martian 
colonists, which would have been incon- 
sistent with their noninterference policy, 
which they had followed with only 
minor and judicious lapses. 

The Earthians made their way toward 
the great rotating fan and the pumps 
connected with it, forcing their way 
through the delicate and now wilting 
fronds of bizarre vegetation, until they 
reached the first of the stone paths. 

The flat, oval bodies of the Martians, 
armored by their gray exPskeletons, 
sprawled everywhere, glistening with an 
oily sheen in the uneven light. The lat- 
ter could not have been intended prima- 
rily for illuminating purposes, for the 
Martians possessed no discoverable 
visual organs, but in their stead myriad 
flexible feelers, in which the sense of 



STARDUST GODS 



147 



touch must have been developed to a 
marvelous degree. 

Perhaps in the dehydrated atmos- 
phere of Mars, highly specialized eyes, 
such as human beings possess, could 
not have been produced; for such eyes 
must have a cornea that is constantly 
kept clean by moisture; and if the air 
to which that cornea is exposed is very 
dry, the moisture evaporates at once. 

Perhaps, then, the flickering light 
from the globes was intended to pro- 
mote the rapid growth of vegetation 
here. 

The Eiarthians reached the fan and the 
pumps. Of the latter there were two, 
their gigantic pistons moving steadily 
up and down. One sucked air through 
filtering chambers and discharged it in 
a pulsating blast which the fan distrib- 
uted. The other was an exhaust pump, 
drawing stale atmosphere into it and 
forcing it through a metal pipe which 
projected up through the roof of the 
canal. 

“We won’t need the exhaust,” Ed 
commented. “The Martians had to Use 
it because they needed a lower pressure 
tharl that which exists outdoors. We 
can just shut this one pump off and 
let the impure air blow out through the 
hole we made with the rock.” 

It wasn’t difficult to locate the 
switches. One was mounted on the base 
of each motor. Ed turned the crank- 
like handle which controlled the motor 
or the exhaust pump, separating the 
contact points. The pump slowed ma- 
jestically to a stop. 

Cautiously, Bill Stevens had removed 
his niask, and was standing in the throb- 
bing blast of entering air, which was 
fresh and untainted. 

“I got to get a whiff of tltis stuff be- 
fore I start back for LaBelle to get the 
crowd,” Bill explained. “You two and 
Schnitz can stay here and sorta watch 
things while I’m gone.” 

“We’re all set for an argument, I 



see,” said Davis, jerking off his gro- 
tesque face covering. 

“Sure!” Bill answered. “Bein’ mes- 
senger is a job for a tough man!” 

Davis grinned at the hard old veteran. 
Then he held out his hand. “Indian 
wrestle?” he invited. 

Bill met his grip with bony fingers, 
and for ten seconds the two swayed and 
strained. Then Bill Stevens stumbled to 
his knees. 

“He’s bluffing!” Jennie announced. 

“T wasn’t neither!” Bill returned in 
make-believe indignation. “That feller 
of yours is hard ! He’s the one to go 
to LaBelle!” 

So, for a few moments more the trio 
bantered lightly. But they were re- 
lieved only because they were still alive, 
when they had thought that death was 
certain. The future still looked black 
and impenetrable. 

VII. 

IN THE AFTERNOON of the next, 
foggy, red-lighted day, a crowd of 
refugees, protected by improvised masks 
of chemical-soaked cloth, and provided 
with more chemical with which to renew 
the masks, were struggling up the moun- 
tain pass from the charred ruins of La- 
Belle. The three buildings in which 
they had been housed were fireproof 
and had escaped the conflagration. 

Bearing meager supplies of food, 
rescued from the undamaged portion of 
the little city, the refugees reached the 
Martian canal toward the setting of the 
twin suns. 

Hectic weeks of activity followed. It 
might even have been triumphant 
activity, except for the stardust gods, 
whose presence was a constant, brood- 
ing threat that no human being could 
ever hope to surmount. Their vast wis- 
dom and hardihood were incombatible. 
If they chose, they could wipe out in a 
moment every vestige of human life 
and effort that existed here. 



148 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Still, Earthians are dogged, defiant 
creatures, wlien their energies are effec- 
tively organized and directed. Among 
the refugees there were several who 
were well-suited to command ; and so 
they labored purposefully, in spite of 
the crystals who hovered near them al- 
ways, watching them, conversing with 
them, bringing them strange mental im- 
pressions by direct body contact, but 
never revealing their intentions in any 
detail. Tlie Earth colonists tried to be 
happy in spite of everything. They even 
managed quite a celebration when Edwin 
Davis and Jane Terence were married. 

The rougher spots in the mountain 
pass were leveled out. Tractors were 
pressed into service to haul foodstuff and 
materials from the vicinity of LaBelle. 
Better gas masks were made. Crude 
community shelters were erected in the 
canal bed. Grains and vegetables were 
planted tliere. Strange Martian devices 
were examined, among them the great 
black plates which absorbed solar radiant 
energy and changed it into electricity, 
which could be stored in immense under- 
ground batteries. 

Jerry Mason, steeped in new chemical 
lore wrested from Martian apparatus, 
was sure it would be possible to produce 
all the required food elements syntheti- 
cally from crude vegetable materials, 
after a short period of further study. 
Ed Davis and his bride were of the 
same opinion. All in all, things seemed 
to be moving along as well as could be 
expected. 

AND THEN it happened. Just as a 
murky dawn was breaking over the 
planet which some one had christened 
New Earth, the ground began to trem- 
ble with a series of sharp, upthrusting 
shocks. Quake ! Rapidly it waxed 
more and more violent. Deep down, 
from under the canal bed, and from 
under the surrounding hills and moun- 
tains, came the creaking, straining 
groans of a tortured world. 



The Earth colony was thrown into a 
mad turmoil. Men rushed to the air- 
purifying apparatus, which must be kept 
in operation at all costs. Valiantly the 
Martian pump toiled on. But there was 
nothing that could be done to protect it. 
If it was strained beyond functioning, 
its breakdown must be accepted as a 
gesture of fate. 

The transparent, metal-ribl)ed roof of 
the canal rattled like fluttering paper. 
Had its dear substance been brittle, it 
would have collapsed at once. There 
seemed nothing for the humans to do 
but wait for the end. The ground was 
buckling and heaving to such an extent 
that it was almost impossible to stand 
erect. Great chasms opened in the soil' 
of the canal, and closed again. Dozens 
of people were engulfed, and the others 
who lived were forced to scramble con- 
stantly to keep out of harm’s way. 

But the stardust gods, swarming thick 
in the air of the canal, and above its 
rattling roof, showed no trace of terror. 
Nor had they any reason to feel such 
an emotion. The alien order of life to 
which they belonged, immune to heat 
and cold, to poison, to lack of air, to 
senile decay, and to most of the danger 
of violence, was practically immortal. 
They had nothing to fear. Only that 
unholy glee of theirs possessed them. 

Bill Stevens, holding his dog in his 
arms, looked up at the swirling, mutter- 
ing horde with an expression of hate 
that seemed to smolder. 

“Havin’ fun again, ain’t you?’’ he 
yelled. “Bet this quake ain’t natural! 
Bet you devils caused it!’’ 

“Fun again!” the swarm echoed. 
“Yes, we caused the quake!” Its voice 
was a sonorous and mighty duplicate of 
Bill’s, throbbing like thunder above the 
screams of the human multitude. 

And then a little crystal alighted on 
Bill’s throat ; and by means of that queer 
neuronic contact he saw something of 
how the quake was produced. Perhaps 
this information was given him only to 



STARDUST GODS 



149 



stimulate his emotions, that they might 
be a more interesting subject of study. 

An army of stardust gods had bored 
through the crust of the planet at a dis- 
tant point with beams of concentrated 
heat waves originating from within 
themselves. There, in the molten in- 
terior, they had stirred up terrific atomic 
forces by means of a bombardment of 
neutrons. Seething lava was shifting 
and expanding there, causing the quake. 

The pointless brutality in which it 
seemed to have originated was madden- 
ing. Furiously Bill knocked the crystal 
from his throat with calloused fingers. 
But the gray shard made no effort to 
strike back. It only circled Bill’s head, 
tinkling out what seemed mocking 
laughter. 

The old man staggered his way to 
where Ed Davis and Jennie were try- 
ing to keep on their feet; and for the 
rest of that horrible day he stuck close 
to his two best friei» s. 

The quake settled down to a sort of 
nerve-racking rhythm. Every few sec- 
onds there was what seemed a terrific 
upward jolt. 

About midday the Martian air pump 
was riven in two. Now the Earthians 
had only their masks to fall back on as 
a protection against the gas. There 
could be little question about it. Ulti- 
mate doom was at hand. 

BUT just at dusk the quake stopped 
abruptly. With tense lack of optimism 
the humans waited for its renewal. But 
in fifteen minutes of waiting there was 
no farther sign of seismic shock. Even 
the watching crystals hung, soundless 
and almost motionless, in the air. 

Out of the lonely silence a wind be- 
gan to howl. Gusts of it, strangely cool, 
came through the many rifts in the now 
sagging canal roof. In the entering mr 
there was. no yellow haze of poison, 

"Something: — something’s happened 1” 
Ed Davis stammered. "Come on !’’ 

Bill, Schnitzel, Jennie and he, fol- 



lowed by straggling groups of puzzled 
humanity, rushed up the slope of the 
canal and clambered through a rent in 
its transparent covering. The wind 
that struck them was cool and fresh. 
The huge, tumbled mountains loomed 
sharp and clear in the sky, in spite of 
the thickening dusk, dotted ageiin with 
the phosphorescent specks that were the 
stardust gods. 

But Bill and Jennie and Ed remem- 
bered caution. They raised their masks 
and sniffed tentatively before they pulled 
them from their faces. None of them 
could guess at first what miracle had 
occurred. 

And then, miles to the eastward, they 
saw the vast, jagged break of a tremen- 
dous precipice. Over its brink, far, far 
beneath, they could make out, through 
poisonous murk, the expanse of this 
world as they had so recently known it. 

"I understand now what happened," 
Jennie said huskily. “This section of 
New Earth’s crust — probably an enor- 
mous area — has been raised up by the 
quake to form a plateau far above the 
average level of the planet’s surface. 
Chlorine, and the other poisonous gases, 
are too heavy to remain at this height. 
Boys, we’ve got a real chance to keep 
on living now ! A real country with air 
as untainted as that of the old Earth 1 I 
wonder if LaBelle, beyond the moun- 
tains, was raised, too. If it was, then 
we’ll have Earthly soil to live on. We 
might even rebuild our old homes 
there !’’ 

"The queer thing is that the crystals 
done it !’’ Bill growled in bewildered un- 
belief. 

He looked around at the now silent 
host of stardust gods which filled the 
air, wondering in dazed uncertainty 
whether he had misjudged them. But 
though they had doubtless heard his 
words and read his thoughts, they gave 
him no reply. 

Ed Davis’ laugh was shaky. "Once 
when I was a kid,” be said, "I watched 



150 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



fc colony of ants building a bridge across 
a tiny ravine in the ground. Well, I 
pushed the dirt for them, filling the ra- 
vine. I don’t think there was any altru- 
ism back of my act — just whim and 
curiosity. The ants didn't appreciate 
what I had done for them right away, 
but presently they began to make use 
of my improvement of the conditions of 
terrain, dragging their nest materials 
across it. What prompted the stardust 
gods in this latest gesture of theirs was 
probably something of the same order 
as that which gave me the idea of help- 
ing the ants. I could have trampled 
their nest just as well if the impulse had 
come.” 

But with new and promising develop- 
ments to hold their attention, few of the 
colonists could think of the crystalline 
miracle workers now, 

“Let’s have a look at LaBelle, folks !" 
Bill shouted. 

In spite of the weariness of every one, 
he and Jennie and Ed didn’t find it diffi- 
cult to get a following. Full of eager- 
ness, a hundred people hurried after 
them as they started for the pass. 

AFTER a long, tiring climb, they 
reached a point where they could look 
down into the huge pit that cupped a 
piece of the old Earth. Fire leaped in 
the ruins of the little city; but in spite 
of this, a mighty shout went up from the 
throats of the colonists. LaBelle had 
been raised, too, into the pure upper 
air; and though almost destroyed, it 
could be rebuilt to serve as a permanent 
home. Yes, home! Or was there still 
an element of haunting uncertainty and 
doubt? Might not the stardust gods 
still trample the Earthfolk they had 
helped ? 

Suddenly Schnitzel, whose mask no- 
body had troubled to remove, attempted 
a muffled bark. 

Bill Stevens, looking for the cause, 



glanced behind him. “Hey, every- 
body!” he yelled. 

Notched in the pass, the gray-green 
moon was now visible. But its old as- 
pect had been changed. It appeared a 
little smaller than usual, and it was mov- 
ing — moving away! From it a propel- 
ling streamer of emerald fire projected 
like a comet’s tail. Energy was being 
released by the crystalhne life that 
crusted it, or even, perhaps, formed its 
entire substance — enough energy to tear 
it from its orbit and send it hurtling off 
into the emptiness of interstellar space. 

There were no more crystal swarms 
in the weird night. Unnoticed by the 
humans during the excited climb and 
descent toward LaBelle, they had 
slipped away. 

“The stardust gods are — leaving,” Ed 
Davis murmured. “Doubtless they 
studied us to the last. Now the show’s 
over for them and they’re going on, to 
work other miracles, maybe a hundred 
million light years away ! We can really 
breathe free at last.” 

He took his young wife in his arms 
and kissed her with a strange, unbe- 
lieving reverence. 

“Say!” Bill Stevens exclaimed sud- 
denly. “When you sorta think it over, 
it wouldn’t be so bad bein’ one of them 
crystals! Wanderin’ around like that 
from place to place! That moon of 
theirs probably didn’t belong to this 
world at all, to begin with ! Just moved 
here — temporary — ^and now it’s movin’ 
away ! Yes, sir ! If it wasn’t for some 
of their peculiarities, I almost wish I 
was one of them stardust gods!” 

He paused and chuckled whimsically. 
Then : “Gosh ! I almost forgot. There’s 
a jug of somethin’ better ’n water which 
maybe the quake didn’t bust out at my 
shack. Maybe we could go and get it 
and sorta celebrate our good luck!” 

Jennie laughed softly. “Same old 
Bill!” she said. But in her heart there 
was warm understanding. She knew 
Bill Stevens — adventurer. 



SLEET STORM 

by John W. Campbell, Jr. 




Article No. 17 ia a study oi the Solar System. 



S LEETING down to circle tlie Sun, 
twenty million meteors strike 
Earth each twenty-four hours, a 
hail of nickel-steel armor-piercing pro- 
jectiles. On Earth to-day, man waits 
and hopes to send out a ship, a frail bub- 
ble of air wrapped in metal, a thing to 
reach other worlds beyond that sleet 
storm of death. Twelve miles a second 



— twelve times as fast as the shells of 
the Big Bertha — the meteors move when 
they strike Earth at their slowest. 
Twenty-five miles a second is an aver- 
age speed; many have been observed 
thundering through the upper atmos- 
phere at fifty miles a second. 

What chance of survival would the 
fragile, metal bubble have if it went out 



152 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



beyond tliat near-invisible protective 
■film of air that surrounds the Earth? 

It would have one chance in two 
thousand of being hit if it went all the 
way from Earth to Mars through that 
“sleet” ! Twenty million a day strike 
Elarth — but Earth presents a projected 
disk surface of fifty million square miles. 
It sweeps through eighty million million 
cubic miles of space in that twenty-four- 
hour period. Tliose millions of meteors 
are distributed so thinly through that 
■vast volume that there must be less than 
one in every four million cubic miles of 
space. 

One in four million cubic miles of 
space — at Earth’s orbit. Since they are 
circling the Sun, most of them in ex- 
ceedingly eccentric orbits, there is a 
natural concentration of them as the 
I Sun is approaclied. At Mars’ distance 
there would be even fewer. Further, no 
space ship man ever bt^lt is going to 
equal the size of the Earth ; there ’d be 
no sense to it. But a ship fifty feet in 
i diameter presents a front-surface area 
of about one ten-thousandth of a square 
mile instead of fifty million square miles, 
i If such a ship makes the fifty million- 
mile trip to Mars, it sweeps only five 
thousand cubic miles of space, it has less 
tthan one chance in two thousand, proba- 
bly, of sweeping the particular volume 
that contains a meteor. 

But — suppose by ill luck jt does sweep 
into that one deadly volume. What 
then? The meteors, those twenty mil- 
lion a day that strike Earth, are not the 
kind you see in museums. It has been 
estimated that ten-thousand first-magni- 
tude meteors could be held in one hand ! 
Pinheads are huge by comparison. 

But pinheads don’t ordinarily move 
.at speeds of dozens of miles a second. 
^ What damage would one of those minute 
things do if it did strike a ship? Al- 
though the results on striking Earth and 
in striking a ship are not strictly com- 
parable, they may give indications. One 
upsetting factor is present ; Earth’s 



gravitational field. That accelerates any 
body falling to Earth from free space 
to a minimum velocity of seven miles a 
second, the least speed theoretically 
possible. 

Actually, meteors appear to be true 
members of the solar system, revolving 
in true orbits, highly eccentric and dis- 
tributed in any plane, any direction, at 
any angle. They act, so to speak, like 
individual comets, each on its own wild 
path. Certain great meteor showers 
are, of course, the remains of broken 
comets, fragments torn apart by close 
passage of some major planet. But 
since they rotate about the Sun as comets 
do, their velocities are naturally high; 
meteors do not fa// to Earth ; Earth gets 
in the way of a meteor with a rendezvous 
at the Sun. Therefore, meteors travel- 
ing only twelve miles a second are few 
and far between indeed. The average 
velocity of meteors appears to be about 
twenty-six point nine miles a second. 

SINCE twelve miles a second is the 
minimum speed, let us work with this 
most conservative value. When a 
meteor enters our atmosphere, it has an 
energy represented by its motion, equal 
to M being its mass and V its 

velocity. In coming to rest, this energy 
is changed into some other form ; practi- 
cally, to heat. Since heat is a nlbtion 
of molecules, the velocity of the body 
may be directly spoken of as “tempera- 
tures,” for the molecules are all moving 
at twelve miles a second ; it happens they 
are all moving in the same direction, so 
that the temperature isn’t obvious, but 
it is a legitimate expression. The 
meteor, then, has a temperature of about 
50,000® C. That is far more than suffi- 
cient to volatilize any substance in the 
universe; tungsten boils vigorously at a 
tenth of that temperature. How, then, 
can any meteor possibly survive to be- 
come a meteorite? 

The atmospheric resistance a meteor 
encounters is directly proportional to 



’ SLEET STORM 



153 



the square of its velocity times the 
density of the air. At 12 miles a second 
and at sea level, this resistance would 
be 8 tons per square centimeter, a pres- 
sure readily capable of crushing the 
nickel-steel alloy of the metal meteors. 
At high altitudes this resistance is, of 
course, more reasonable. As the meteor 
descends it does work compressing the 
air directly in front of it ; to only a 
limited extent does a meteor stir up air 
currents. A body moving through air 
at normal speeds displaces the air in 
front of it, and the air behind flows in 
as it passes. But a meteor, lashing 
through at that immense speed drills a 
hole through the air as' though it were 
a solid body ; air cannot move away 
from in front of it because the shock 
of its coming is so swift it cannot be 
transmitted before it. The air hasn’t 
time to move out of the way, but can 
only pile up on the forward surface. 
Similarly, behind it is a space where 
the meteor has driven through, tearing 
the air out of place, and passing on long 
before surrounding air has had time to 
fill in the emptied space. 

The meteor is doing enormous work, 
compressing, piling up air on its for- 
ward surface. More and more is 
jammed violently gainst it. Almost in- 
stantly the meteor is cushioned by a 
thick layer of terrifically compressed air. 
The work is done compressing air, not 
in rubbing againrt it. The air is heated, 
not the meteor. The result is that only 
the forward surface of the meteor is 
slightly heated, enough to fuse it super- 
fically, perhaps, but nearly all the energy 
is released in the compressed air. 

The air is heated to a fearful tempera- 
ture. Only a comparatively small amount 
of air (about two thousand six hundred 
grams per square centimeter of front 
surface) is involved, and this is heated 
at a temperature of thousands of de- 
grees. It radiates, consequently, be- 
cause of the compression-heating effect. 
Nearly all that radiation is far in the 



invisible tiltra-violet ; what we see are 
the trickling dregs that have fallen far 
down the spectrum to the visible band. 
Ten thousand first-magnitude meteors in 
one hand — ^yet each, during its brief 
flight, releases energy at a rate equalled 
only by something like a ten-millron-dol- 
lar power house. The work done by a 
meteor moving at twelve miles a second 
through sea-level-density air would be 
at the rate of five billion, six hundred 
and sixty million watts per square centi- 
meter of front surface. About thirty- 
five billion watts per square inch. Even 
seventy-five miles above the surface of 
Earth it would encounter a resistance 
that dissipated three hundred and twenty 
thousand watts per square inch of front 
surface. 

That furious dissipation of energy will, 
obviously, stop any small meteor long 
before it reaches Earth. But the re- 
sistance varies according to the front- 
surface area. Now the greater the 
meteor is, the more mass it has behind 
each square inch of front surface; the 
more massive it is, the more chance it 
has of driving its way through the 
frightful resistance. A meteor weighing 
one thousand torts, for irtstartce, would 
penetrate Earth’s atmosphere almost 
unchecked, leaving a vast volume of rup- 
tured air, a vacuum, in its wake. If a 
small, but sufficiently large meteor pene- 
trates the atmosphere undestroyed, it is 
stopped, perhaps at an elevation of only 
a mile or so, to continue its fall as an 
ordinary, dropped stone. A little larger, 
and it might just strike the surface be- 
fore the last of its velocity is braked 
away. A meteorite weighing two hun- 
dred pounds 'Or more, and falling on soil, 
penetrates to several yards. But our 
one-thousand-ton meteorite would 
scarcely be checked by the air, and might 
strike at a velocity of a full twelve miles 
a second. 

IT MAKES not the slightest differ- 
ence whether that meteorite strikes soft 



154 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



sandstone, or plows into hard, igneous 
granite rock. The crystaline strength 
of the granite is absolutely unimportant. 
The meteorite has to move that resist- 
ing medium out of its way; that is the 
fundamental. The rock, the matter, 
must be accelerated, suddenly, to its own 
velocity of twelve miles a second, a 
terrific, instantaneous acceleration. The 
resistance of ordinary surface soil or 
rock, due to inertia alone, is the im- 
portant thing, and that will amount to 
about two hundred thousand tons per 
square inch. About two thousand 
times the crushing resistance of good 
steel. The nickel steel of the meteorite, 
and the hard granite would, alike, flow 
like true gases; the granite would act 
precisely as the air did, with the excep- 
tion that it now constitutes an immensely 
(two thousand times) denser gas. The 
energ^y released in a tenth of a second 
would volatilize both meteorite and sur- 
rounding material — would, in effect — 
explode it terrifically into flaming gases 
at thousands of degrees. 

Heat or no heat, under that pressure 
both meteorite and stone would act as 
gases. Suppose it had encountered, in- 
stead, a mass of solid armor plate. 
Again, both would explode into flaming 
gas, the greater strength of the steel 
would merely make the resistance one 
part in two thousand greater, an utterly 
unimportant factor. But — the steel 

would, nevertheless, offer a far greater 
resistance to penetration, because there 
is more mass per cubic inch that must 
be accelerated ; steel is denser than 
granite. 

Lead, or liquid mercury metal, how- 
ever, would have a greater resistance to 
penetration than that hard steel ! 
Osmium, density 3 times that of steel, 
twice that of lead, would be the most 
resistant of all. But it is inertia, not 
strength, that counts. 

Now what of our space ship, the 
metal bubble in emptiness? Meteors are 
tiny things, pinheads moving at fearful 



speed. The penetrating power of a rifle 
bullet is quadrupled if the speed is dou- 
bled. A high-power rifle throws a bul- 
let at close to a mile a second, and will 
penetrate some sixty inches of hard 
wood. At two miles a second — it would 
penetrate about five inches and explode 
into gas. Would a meteor pierce the 
hull of a space ship ? A w'all, say, built 
of thin steel, covered with lead. Or, 
would it explode into gas at the surface 
of the lead, leaving the ship practically 
uninjured, or merely dented? Or 
would the sudden eruption of gas be 
so violent that the gas alone would 
force a huge breach in the wall, though 
the meteor originally was no more than 
a pinhead? 

At any rate, it would seem that the 
pinhead meteors would not be apt to 
destroy a ship. Greater ones might. 
But meteors weighing one pound are 
wonderfully rare, those weighing ten 
pounds are far scarcer yet. A meteor 
weighing a ton 

Such a thing, furthermore, could be 
detected. Radio-wave reflection and 
electrostatic devices would warn of the 
approach of such a monster in the empti- 
ness of space. Magnetic devices alone 
could not be relied on, for there are two 
types of meteors: the stony and the 
metallic. 

THE METAL meteorites are com- 
posed of about ninety per cent metallic 
iron in alloy with various percentages of 
nickel, (which may run as high as 
twenty-five per cent) and smaller quan- 
tities of cobalt, copper, phosphorus, 
sulphur and other elements. Those ele- 
ments are joined in curious minerals 
never found on Earth ; in fact, many of 
the meteorites in museums to-day have 
been recognized as such because of the 
non-Terrestrial minerals occurring in 
them. 

Most of the meteorites exhibited in 
museums are of this type, though the 
metal meteorites are, actually, rarer than 



SLEET STORM 



155 



the stony type. Metal meteorites are 
hard, tough, relatively permanent, and 
much more readily recognized. The 
stony meteorites are easily confused, by 
the layman, with ordinary rock. The 
unaccustomed action of water and frost 
rapidly disintegrate them. 

The metallic meteorites present one 
characteristic tliat has long puzzled 
metallurgists. Polished, and etched, the 
individual metal crystals are readily 
visible as large light-and-dark colored 
patches, shaped rather like a one-inch 
section of the broad end of a toothpick. 
The large network of crystals of metal 
are filled with silicate minerals peculiar 
to meteorites. Quite recently, a metal- 
lurgist has succeeded in crystallizing an 
iron alloy to form the same type of 
crystals observed in the meteorites, by 
slow, careful cooling from the molten 
stage. The question of how meteorites 
formed, however, remains very largely 
a question, for the conditions necessary 
for this type of crystallization are hard 
to understand. 

TTie stony meteorites, too, indicate a 
slow cooling from a liquid stage. Both 
stony and metallic-, on heating in a 
vacuum, yield large volumes of gases, 
including carbon and hydrogen com- 
pounds, but little or no oxygen. Helium 



is found in small quantities. Helium is 
the product of radioactivity, but the 
stony meteorites are less than one fourth 
as radioactive as Terrestrial granites, 
while the all-metal meteorites are almost 
wholly free of any radioactivity. This 
may be interpreted in a number of ways, 
primarily as being indicative of their 
origin, but in a way as yet undetermined, 
or as an indication of age ; that they are 
so incredibly ancient that the long-lived 
uranium atoms themselves have at last 
broken down. 

Under the latter interpretation, it 
would indicate an age about six billion 
years greater than that of Earth. This 
throws considerable doubt on the time- 
clock interpretation, since dynamical 
considerations of the entire solar system 
indicate, vaguely, that something im- 
portant happened two billion not eight 
billion years ago. 

But in whatever way they miy have ' 
originated, whether they will or will not 
constitute a menace to space ships to 
come, they represent to-day a thing en- 
tirely unique ; they are the only material 
things that reach Earth from the regions 
of the stars : light — and meteors. Those 
two things alone come to Earth from 
outside, to give any hint of things be- 
yond our planet. 



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History vs. Legends, 

Dear Mr. Tremaine: 

rerliapa tliia letter should be addressed “Dear 
Science DlKcussioneers" instead, as it is meant 
more for the readers of this department and fur 
one John Daris Buddhue in particular. Mr. 
Btiddhiie’s recvnt letter — and James A. White's, 
which I enjoyed immensely' — is the main cause 
rising to this latest outburst. 

I never read much on Mu, but of the one- 
time existence of the lost continent of Atlantis, 
I Htn firmly convinced. True, many say it is a 
mere myth, unsupported by scientific fact : but it 
is also true that if a jierson does not believe in 
a thing and searches for proof of its nonexist- 
ence, they are blinded to anything that tends 
to contradict their beliefs. 1 do a lot of read- 
ing on pretty near all subjects, and 1 have read 
more things that prove the existence of a con- 
tinent in the Atlantic than otherwise. Mr. 
Buddhue claims there is absolutely no relation 
ill any way between Mayan and Kgyptian cul- 
ture, bringing forth the point of the languages 
as an example. 

Now I bring this out as contradiction. In a 
recent book “In Quest of Lost Worlds," by 
Count Byron de Prorok, the author, an archae- 
ologist of note, explores parts of the North 
African continent, and also Central America, to 
find evidence that would bear out his belief in 
Atlantis, or at least of a lost mid-Atlantic con- 
tinent. In Africa he struck a trail, or belt, of 
ancient culture that stretches from the Nile to 
the AtJantic: in Central America he found evi- 
dence of exactly the same culture. He also men- 
tions that traces of the same ancient civilization 
in other parts of the world have lK*eu found. Now, 
if this is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, 
how did this ancient country cross the Atlantic 
iinlesH there wa.s a continent, a string of islands, 
or unless they had boats that were far superior 
to any we have been able to discover in au- 
tiuulty ? 

The ancient civilization of the Americas wor- 
shiped the same god the Egyptians did. namely 
the sun god — a golden disk surrounded by wavy 
lines or fiames. The Mayan ruins look quite 
like Egyptian ruins, and the pyramid was also 



known in Central America. Is it likely that 
two great peoples — the Mayans and the Egyp- 
tians — separated by thousands of miles, with no 
intercourse of any kind, could have had the same 
god and developed the same tyi>e of buildings? 

You say, Mr. Buddhue, that you once beileved 
in Atlantis and Mu until you examined the facts 
in the cold light of science. That’.s all very 
well. But science, and men of science, have 
made mistakes in the past, and there is no 
reason why it and they should suddenly decide 
to do otherwise. When Jules Venie wrote 
“Twenty Thousand I.^agiie.s Under the Sea” they 
said the submarine was impossible and scienlifi- 
cally proved it so. Before the Wright Brothers 
built and flew the first airplane it wa.s soieotitl- 
cally proved impossible for a heavier-than-alr 
machine to fly. 

To-day scientists of one group will declare 
another group is barking up the wrong tree. 
Look what was proven scientific falsehood when 
that famous man dropped those weights of his 
from the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Once man 
was supposed, and proved to be, born from all 
sorts of things : vapors, a kiss, etc. iiiieience to- 
day says we’ll never fly to the moon. They said 
that a few years ago about any kind of flying; 
to-day it's common. In the light of past mis- 
takes, why should we accept as final the scien- 
tific decree on Atlantis? 

There is proof that lands that are to-day above 
water were at one time submerged. Is it, there- 
fore, too difiicult to believe that a land that 
ouce bathed in the warm light of the sun is to- 
day lying in the watery deeps? 

How do the savage tribes to-day act whe» 
they see an airplane, hear a gun fired, see a 
match bring forth flauies? How would the sav- 
age races of yesterday act if they saw an 
Atlantean flying machine soar overhead? 

A dragon, we learn from perusal of the myths, 
breathed fire — at least one type did. When man 
first tried flying with balloons he attempted to 
use steam engines to propel the thing along. 
What would you think if you were to look up 
in the air some night and see a long shape float- 
ing along, spouting smoke and sparks? Suppose 
you, Mr. Buddhue, were a savage — dressed in 
skins perhaps, and holding a spear in your 





SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS 



157 



hand — end yon saw that. Might yon not go 
home and tell a story of seeing a fearsome flying 
thing that breathed fire? Wouldn’t the story 
be handed down from generation to generation, 
each generation changing it a little until It 
grew out of aU proportions and became a winged 
serpent or a fiery dragon? Perhaps the Atlan- 
teans went out on slave hunts and sometimes 
people saw the slaves being taken into the fly- 
ing thing. Might not their ignorant minds be- 
lieve that what they had seen was the monster 
eating them? Might not they feel that If they 
offered it sacrifices it would be appeased and 
not come again? 

What of Cyclops, the one-eyed giant? What 
would a man In a diving suit with a light fas- 
tened to bis helmet look like at night to ignorant 
savages? In their terror the awesome figure 
might assume gigantic proportions, a giant with 
one eye, a glaring eye. 

White says we might let these myths go as the 
childish imaginings of a primitive people. In 
any books of savage races that I have read, their 
imaginations wer? pretty limited as far as pure 
thought is concerned. But let them see some- 
thing they don’t understand and they weave a 
nice tale around it, making it as awesome and 
as terrifying as possible. In other words, the 
stories of a savage people usually — perhaps al- 
ways — have their origin in absolute fact. Great 
Scott ! Look how the history of the past thou- 
sand or so years becomes garbled and inaccu- 
rate, and It is written history. Think of the 
history of a people that has been handed down 
by word of mouth only for 9,000 or 10,000 
years ! Would you be able to recognize it as 
history T 

In closing, may I say that it amounts to sacri- 
lege for a science-fiction fan to say a thing Is 
Impossible? Also, don’t be offended at anything 
I might have said, Mr. Buddhoe. You merely 
said a few things that were contrary to what I 
think, and for the rest of the readers to be able 
to judge, they have to have both sides of the 
story. Another thing, I think It a dirty shame 
for James A. White to craw] into his hole now 
that he has got the ball rolling so well. But, I 
feel sure he’ll be back. — Leslie A. Croutch, 
Waubeek Street, Parry Sound, Ontario, Canada. 



"Lapse ot Memory. " 

Dear Bditor : 

Renrding Mr. Stone’s letter on “sensation of 
repeated occurrences” : The theory that I hold 
to as a most satisfactory explanation is that of 
“lapse of memory,” Our memories fail us for a 
period of, perhaps, a second’s duration (or a 
small fraction of a second). This period Is too 
small to be noticed at the time it occurs, but for 
a short time our memories are a second (or frac- 
tion of a second) behind our actions. Therefore, 
when we remember the actions, we have the 
impression that they occurred in the past. 

This theory Is not my own, and I cannot 
state It as clearly as the original, but perhaps 
you may be able to see the point I am tiring to 
set forth. — D. E. D., New Elver, Virginia. 



Four-dimensional Objects. 

Dear Editor r 

As many other readers begin, 1, toO) am 
sending this, my first letter. 

Donald Pranson of Chicago asks for an argu- 
ment against his 4-dimensionai anti-argument. 
May I offer it ? 

It seems that Donald cannot conceive of a 
4-dlmensional object. Would you be so narrow- 
minded as to think that what Is Impossible for 
you to comprehend Is, therefore. Impossible to 
be? But I’m not blaming you, for the human 
eye can really see figures of 2 dimensions and 
that’s all. We cannot really see 3 dimensions, 
we merely take it for granted, as far as sight 
alone is concerned. It Is quite possible to "see” 



a 3-dlmensional object In the mind’s eye, but It Is 
impossible to "see’’ a 4-dimen8lonal object, even 
in this manner. For your convenience I 
sketched the 4-dimensional figure below : 




If Donald would like further information, be 
could let me know. 1 would be glad to com- 
municate with him. 

Further, a 4-dimensional object, he. a hyper- 
cube, may be called a tesseract, and has 24 
square faces, 32 edges, and lO right angular 
comers. 

Hugh McKenna, Jr., of Oregon, asks ; “Is it 
possible to divide a second?” It is quite ob- 
vious that a second can be divided, for if the 
second were divided into (10 parts, on the face 
of a clock, just ^ of the period would be re- 
uired for the hand to run over 30 of these 
Ivlsions, as would be required to pass over 00, 
right? 

You also say you are not sure there is sneh 
a thing as time. Would you be willing to bet 
yonr entire fortune — 11 or more— that no period 
called time elapses from the time that you 
start from home to get to your girl friend’s 
bouse? More seriously though, if there were 
no such a thing as time, then the speed of 
light would be instantaneous, for only then 
would there be no period of time for the light 
to reach an object from the source. — Frank 
Bochik, Jr., 3905 Deodar Street, Indiana Harbor, 
Indiana, 



Another Theory on Atlantis. 

Dear Mr. Tremaine : 

I read with regret in the current issue of yonr 
magazine that Mr. White has decided to cease 
firing on the Atlantis front. May I, as one of 
the adherents of the opposing party, beg him to 
reconsider? The battle is just getting good, and 
it would be a shame, to say the least, for him to 
decide to leave us to our troubles ! 

In the meantime, may I suggest that the more 
virulent of the Atlantis addicts read Rato’s 
“Tlmmus” and "Crltas,” and see how little Plato 
actually did say on the subject of Atlantis. In 
fact, he didn’t say it — one of his stooges, 
"Critas,” (who, by the way, was one of the 
crookedest politicians that Athens ever pro- 
duced) did the talking. And it was supposedly 
one of hii (Critas’) ancestors who got ft from 
Solon, who got it from the priest of Sais. And 
it is ve.ry difficult to state that anything about 
Solon was a historical fact. In fact, Wutareh 
admitted that very little was known about him, 
and Plutarch was a lot closer to him than we 
are — by almost 2,000 years. 

The fact that a theory, such as that of At- 
lantis, correlates and “explains” a great many 
facts doesn’t prove a thing. A dozen more 
theories may do the same thing. Likewise, the 
fact that the theory may be a very pleasant one, 
and appease nostalgic longings for a nonexistent 
golden age and Garden of Eden — “Garden of 
Hesperides,” “Land of Kui,” “Islands of the 
Blest” — not to mention the "Blessed- Isle of 
Avalon,” and “Never-Never LancL” is no evidence 
of its truth. That may be gooil theology or re- 
ligion of mysticism or jphilosophy, but it’s, cer- 
tainly not science. Science mutt be skeptical, 
and view every theory with a jaundiced eye. 
And even when a theory proves up, It must 



158 



ASTOUNDING STORIES 



Always be kept under suspicion, ready to be 
jettisoned at the slightest pretext. A theory is 
not considered true or false — it’s useful or use- 
less. If you want a theory to explain the At- 
lantis legend of Plato, consider the following, 
offered free, without charge : 

It is a well-known fact that Crete, by 2000 
B.C., was the head of a mighty sea empire that 
leried tribute (a euphemism for graft) from the 
whole Mediterranean. At that time the Greeks, 
or their ancestors, were a flock of savages with 
a governmental system, if such it may be called, 
resembling that of Britain at the time of Julius 
Caesar's invasion. But here is the surprising 
fact : the Greeks of Plato's day (about 400 B.C.) 
had not the slightest memory of the greatness 
of Crete, as compared to their own Impotence. 
They knew that once they had fought with 
Crete (the legend of the Minotaur), but they 
did not remember it as the mighty sea power 
it once was. In their time it was a broken- 
down backwater of civilization, inhabited mainly 
by bandits. 

Plato, in “Crltas,** tells of a great war be- 
tween a mighty sea power and the Greeks and 
Egyptians, who probably had better recollections 
of it than the Greeks did. Might that not be 
the vague tradition of the great Cretan expan- 
sion and then the downfall that occurred about 
1500-1000 B.C., whose last echoes were the fall 
of Troy, and whose residue was the conflict of 
the Hebrews with the Philistines? The times 
are right, and check with other historical events 
of the period in question. Certainly, about 1500 
B.C., the Aehicao ancestors of the Greeks sacked 
KnosHos, and the residue of the Cretan warriors 
descended as a flood against the shores of Egypt 
and the eastern Mediterranean. 

All right. They had the tradition of the war 
— real enough. But they couldn’t find any place 
to put the enemy. The hick island of Crete 
certainly couldn’t be it ! So Plato deduced that 
the enemy must have come from somewhere 
else, and the area Just outside the Straits of 
Gibraltar was a nice place to put it. Certainly 
no Greek could go there to check upon his state- 
ments. If he did, the hardy Phoenecians. who 
calmly navigated those waters — though Plato 
said that they were unnavigable due to the mud- 
bank residues of Atlantis — would cut his throat. 
The sea-going Semites knew all about monopoly ! 
And, to explain the sudden end of the war. he 
hypothesized that Atlantis had sunk. And the 
stories of gods and heroes were the legends ris- 
ing from the struggles between the Cretans and 
the Ach»ans. 

There you have a theory, simpler than the 
Atlantis one, with the advantage of a check 
with known historical facts. But — I don’t say 
It’s true, l^ybe It is — maybe it isn’t — I dunno. 
Personally, r doubt it. After reading “Timaeus” 
and “Critas,” I’m even more thoroughly con- 
vinced that Plato made It up to illustrate his 
theories of government. It was a habit of his, 
you know. 

Again, above all, I suggest that anybody in- 
terested in the legend read Plato. There Isn’t 
much on Atlantis, and you can read the two 
books through in an hour. It’s worth it, if 
only to see upon what a thin foundation the 
whole magnificent edifice has been built. — 
John P. Clark. Ph. D., 3800 Spruce Street, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 



Re: Lightnings 

Dear Mr. Tremaine : 

During the past few days I have been look- 
ing over back issues in which I had not rend 
the Science Discussions. I wish to make some 
comments. 

In the one issue there seemed to be several 
letters concerning the direction of flow of 
lightning. 

My theory is that it strikes both up and 
down, the cause being that rain clouds become 
charged, either negatively or positively, and 
that lightning is merely the Inflow or outflow 



of electricity which neutralizes it when It la 
charged negatively to a high enough degree so 
that lightning may be possible. To give one an 
Idea of the extent of such a charge, it requires 
1,000 volts for lightning to move 1/25 of an 
Inch. Flashes may be several miles in length, 
so one can see a considerable charge must be 
attained. A flash of lightning may occur be- 
tween 2 clouds or a cloud and an object on 
the earth or the earth Itself. Electrons in an- 
other cloud or on the earth will be repelled by 
the electrons in the negatively charged cloud, 
leaving the surface of cloud or earth positively 
charged. The electrons in the cloud then flash 
downward to neutralize both the discharging 
cloud and receiving cloud or object on the 
earth. 

When the cloud is charged positively, the 
electrons flash up from the ground to the cloud, 
again equalizing both factors. 

In the same issue Mr. Charney wondered why 
space was black. That is very easily explained. 
If space were lighted, it would mean that a 
gaseous atmosphere of some, sort, containing 
moisture, must exist throughout all space, as 
that would be the only medium by which It 
could be lighted. Our sky is lighted by the 
rays of the sun reflecting off the air and 
moisture particles in it and becoming diffused, 
producing the effect Mr. Charney apparently 
desires In space. I think that he will agree 
with me that no such condition exists in space. 
Space is black and dark, except for the blind- 
ing disk of the sun and the tiny pin points of 
the distant stars, which in no way light space 
except where their light strikes. The sun would 
not cover up the stars by its blinding light un- 
less through the fault of the eyea of the ob- 
server, 

I hope I have been right in my assumptions. — 
Andrew Underhill, Jr., Bellport, Long. Island. 



Celestial Mecbaaics, 



jufrai «9tc . 

The Iodine question has petered out and I 
feel like starting something else. The following 
is in some measure taking up Mr. Campbell’s 
invitation to find fault with h!s celestial me- 
chanics as issued In January’s Science Discus- 
sions, though not specifically so, as I have seen 
this error — if error it is — in a number of places. 

In the story, “Night,” then, as well as in a 
number of other tales, the planets are depicted 
as slowly approaching and at last falling into 
the sun. Why? 

Take it thus : The planets are all held in 

their orbits by the nicely balanced forces of 
centrifugal and centripetal force, i. e. the mutual 
attraction of the sun and each planet is exactly 
balanced by the tendency of that planet to fly 
off at a tangent to its orbit because of its for- 
ward motion. So If any planet is going to 
fall into the sun it must be because of a de- 
crease in forward motion or an increase in the 
sun’s attraction. Since there Is presumably no 
friction in airless space, there is not much 
chance of the former happening, and of the lat- 
ter, none at all. Quite the opposite, in fact, 
the sun is losing mass at the rate of four 
million tons a second in radiation — in round fig- 
ures three hundred and fifty billion tons a dav. 
In a billion years or so, even granting that this 
enormous flow of radiation will .slow down some- 
what in the meantime Well, play that on 

your adding machine ! It comes to a pretty good 
weight in any man’s language. 

llemember, too, that gravity varies inversely 
with the square of the distance, and the far- 
ther away you get. the faster you get farther. 

How about it, you physicists and mathema- 
ticians? Does the good old earth at some future 
time splash into a sullen cinder sun or does it 
wander off on an aimless peregrination some- 
where in the general dlrectlcm of the Milky Way 
-destination unknown?-— R. S. Vickers, 626 Con- 
stance Avenue, Victoria, B. C. 



SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS 



159 



Information Wanted: 

D#*ar Kditor : 

The north and south isagnetic poles are not 
lo<*ated at the axial north and south poles, and 
they are not dlametrioally opposite to each 
other. A line joining the two would not pass 
through the center of the earth. 

The south magnetic pole is located on South 
Victoria l>and, Antarctica, a little south of the 
70lh parallel of south latitude. 

The north magnetic pole, on the Boothia 
Peninsula, is almost exactly on latitude 70, 
north : 

I- 







If the earth spun on the magnetic poles, St 
would wabhle a great deal and the equator 
would not be as it is now : 



Ji. 




But here is the peculiar thing : if the globe, 
S))inning so, were to be cut into two “hemi’* 
spheres, the smaller one would include a great 
part of the Pacific Ocean and a sizable chunk 
of the North Atlantic. I haven’t the mathe- 
matical ability nor the necessary figures, but I 
siisp4>ct that the center of such a hemisphere 
would very nearly be the center of gravity of 
all the oceans of the earth on a flat map. 







Wily ? Arc we to conclude that the watery 
portion of tills planet is stronger magnetically, 
•r is a better conductor of luagnedsm than the 



land? It seems to count for more In magnetic 
balance. Perhaps some one who knows his 
stuff can tell me If this is right. 

It is true that there is more water in the 
southern geographical hemisphere, and that 
seemingly, as a consequence, the south magnetio 
pole is nearer the south geographical pole than 
is the ease in the north. — Jack Speer, 117 North 
Fourth Street, Comanche, Oklahoma. 



Speed Greater Than That of Light? 

Dear Mr. Tremaine : 

1 finished your July nuumber some time ago. 
Since then I have lH*en musing over the letter 
of one liu.ssel Stewart. Stewart contends that 
an object moving at the rate of 200,000 miles 
per second would emit light traveling at 186,000 
miles per second, hence no light would precede 
the object and (stating EiDstein) it would be 
traveling backward. I suppose be meant that 
it would appeiir to be traveling t>ackward. At 
any rate, unless 1 have l>een reading authors 
that are all wet, I believe Einstein says that 
there can be no speed greater than that of 
light. Am I right or wrong? 

To Donald Frnnson : 1 think it is quite 

possible that there may be another dimension. 
Perhaps man will never discover it, but it may 
exist. Some of the stories written by hare- 
brained authors are enough to sour most minds 
against the Idea. We don’t know whether an- 
other dimension exists or not, so why deride 
the idea ? 

Several letters were written to Science Dis- 
cuKSious about a letter from a Mr. Stone. I, 
loo, have had much the same experiences, in 
which it seems that somewhere -I have done 
this thing before. The ideas are always vague, 
but they are there. Mr. Massoni’s expira- 
tion was most logical. 

1 would like to ask any one near sixteen 
and seventeen years of age to write to me. 
Foreign correspondents are welcome. And I 
would also like to send an appeal to Wang 
Tro Liang, in Peiping, China. Liang, if by any 
chance vou read this, will you please get in 
touch with me? It is very important. — Gtenn 
Whalen, Marshall, 111. 



Explanation of Repeated Occarrences. 

Dear Editor : 

In the July issue 1 notice there is quite a 
discussion on Mr. A. T. Stone’s letter re : “sen* 
satioD of repeated occurrences.” 

Mr. William A. Wt»oding mentions ”An Ex- 
periment with Time.” 1 have just finished 
this book . and Its sequel, ”The Serial Universe,’* 
and 1 believe that any one Interested in going 
into the subject to any extent should at least 
read ”An Experiment with Time.” Both books 
are by J. W. Dunne, and are published by Faber 
and Faber. 

Mr. Dunne’s explanation of the “sensation of 
repeated occurrences” is that whether you can 
remember or not you have recently dreamed 
your waking experience. The difficulty is that 
practically all dreams are forgotten within a 
very few minutes after waking. 

Mr. Donne outlines an experiment that can 
easily be carried out to prove his ideas, and 
now that so many readers have become inter- 
ested in this phenomenon, it would be inter- 
esting if some of them could conduct Mr. 
Dunne’s experiment and report their results 
through Science Discussions. 

1 am sure that the book can be found in most 
public libraries for those who are interested. 

Personally, I have carried it out with amas- 
ing success, and I am sure that those who fol- 
low it up faithfully will be both pleased and 
surprised. — T. W. Deachman, 216 Metcalfe 
Street, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. 



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